


The Gaze of a Flower

by queenseptienna, sunalso



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop & Tattoo Parlor, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Colorado, Custody Battle, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Humor, Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang 2020, Happy Ending, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Tattoos, UST
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-20
Updated: 2020-07-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:27:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 22,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24823060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenseptienna/pseuds/queenseptienna, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunalso/pseuds/sunalso
Summary: AU.  Jaskier is a tattoo artist with his own store in the suburbs of Denver, Colorado. A new florist shop opens up next door, bringing with it a handsome mystery man. Geralt desperately needs his business to make money. Locked in a custody battle over his niece, he has enough problems dealing with the scars leftover from his former life as a Green Beret. He doesn't need a distraction in the form of a perpetually cheerful and attractive Jaskier. With summer bringing heat and the possibility of Geralt losing his only family, can he and Jaskier find their way to each other and happiness?Author: sunalsoArtist: queenseptiennaBeta: Gort
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 320
Kudos: 624
Collections: Geraskier Midsummer Mini Bang





	1. Bleeding Heart

The sketch didn’t change, no matter how Jaskier tilted his head. “Are you sure, Yen?” he asked, looking at the woman leaning against the wall of his tattoo shop. “You want to add bleeding heart lilies to the design?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t know how to tell her that tattooing an intricate bouquet of flowers that included bleeding heart lilies onto the thigh of the most notorious defense attorney in Denver was almost more irony than Jaskier could handle. Did she even have a heart? Maybe she kept it in a jar, right next to his common sense.

“Right,” he said. “I can do that. Any other changes?”

Yennifer marched across the shop to his drafting table, the click of her Louboutin’s loud on the tiles. She frowned at the flowers he’d painstakingly drawn and colored the night before. Jaskier would have been upset about making yet another drawing, but she was paying him twice what he’d quoted her, and she sent too many new customers his way to ever complain. At least to her, because some were her clients. He really didn’t want to think about what they might have done to need Yen as their attorney. Lots of blood in those designs.

At least the flowers were beautiful and showed off his skill. Yen already had two tattoos from him, serving as a walking advertisement for his shop,  _ The High Note _ , whenever she wasn’t wearing her power suits.

“I don’t think so,” she said at last. “Let’s make one more appointment to finalize everything. How much time do you need?”

He tapped his pen against the table. The inside of his shop was clean for the night, the chairs wiped down, and all his inks and tattoo guns neatly stored. “Three or four days if I can find the flowers locally. I don’t want to use internet photos for this.” Jaskier took pride in his work, and if he had actual flowers, then he could make the drawn blooms more individual and alive.

“Maybe the place next door can help?”

Jaskier’s eyes slid to the wall  _ The High Note _ shared with  _ White Wolf Florists _ . The flower boutique had opened two days ago, but he hadn’t seen the owner yet. Shouldn’t that person come over to meet him, since they were the new business? Rude was what it was. “Maybe. I haven’t been in yet. I’m thinking the owner must be a human gremlin or something.”

Yen laughed. “It’s a florist shop, and they’re probably busy. But whatever works.” She set a hundred-dollar bill on the counter next to the register. “I’ll call you tomorrow with my schedule.”

She exited in a cloud of expensive perfume, leaving Jaskier to glare harder at the wall.

Fine, he’d go over to the florist’s since he wanted to get to work on the drawing. It wasn’t as if anyone was waiting for him at home. His holier than thou ex-girlfriend had dumped him for the lead singer of a local band six months ago. Jaskier didn’t miss her, exactly, more like the idea of sharing space with someone. He certainly didn’t miss her complaining about his work hours or that he couldn’t afford to buy her a Lexus.

Standing, Jaskier pulled his vintage Rolling Stones t-shirt straighter and shoved his hand through his hair to give it a semblance of order.

Outside, the air was thick with summer humidity, and he was glad he only had to go one door down. An air-conditioned breeze rushed to meet him as he pushed into the florist shop. The inside was bursting with blooms, the trailing vines of plants, and the scent of tropical flowers.

Example bouquets lined the back wall, where a man in tight jeans stood, his back to Jaskier.

It was a well-muscled back, with broad shoulders. Pale-blond hair hung in a queue, and his biceps stretched the sleeves of his shirt. Jaskier would dearly love to decorate any part of this man’s anatomy. And he was buying flowers. Whoever he’d be giving them to better know how lucky they were.

Jaskier’s mouth had gone dry, and he wiggled his tongue to loosen it.

The man turned, and Jaskier’s tongue promptly stuck to the roof of his mouth again. Pale eyes, a strong jaw outlined with stubble, a cleft in his chin.

Gorgeous.

“Can I help you?” the man asked, voice flat as if he’d rather do anything than help Jaskier.

Crap, this unreasonably handsome man worked at the shop. Jaskier had been one wall away from all this masculinity and never even known. Unfair. Though the fellow seemed the opposite of jovial.

“Hello.” Jaskier stuck out his hand. “Jaskier, I own the tattoo place next door. Do you have any ink?”

“No.”

“Would you like some?” Jaskier graced the man with his most charming smile.

No response. Maybe the guy’s sense of humor had been surgically removed.

“Geralt,” the man finally said. “My place.” He waved at the shop’s interior.

“Geralt,” Jaskier repeated, rolling the name around in his mouth. He liked how it felt on his tongue. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Hm.”

Well, small talk seemed out. That wasn’t surprising, nothing about Geralt was small. “Well, I have a client. She wants to include bleeding heart lilies and I was hoping you might have some? For models, for the drawing, um, not like…um…I’m not putting them on her.” Jaskier shut his mouth. Geralt most likely knew how tattoos worked, even if he didn’t have any.

Jaskier crossed his arms across his middle without any intention of showing off his own ink. Of course he wouldn’t do that, no matter how well it was shaded. Or how proud the designs—all his own—made him. The right was blooms, sharp-petaled poinsettias that let him carry mirth and good cheer with him. His left was banded with clinging vines, crossing like ropes holding him together. They were rough with thorns as a reminder that being alive wasn’t all sunshine and flowers.

He liked contrasts.

He hoped Geralt noticed.

Geralt’s expression didn’t change, but he walked off and disappeared into the back, leaving Jaskier loitering by the register while trying not to think about strong thighs.

Were those jeans of Geralt’s even legal?

Jaskier tapped out a rhythm against the counter, stopping a moment later when Geralt reappeared. He had a handful of gorgeous bleeding heart lily stalks, the delicate blooms a gorgeous deep pink with perfectly white secondary petals. 

“These work?” Geralt asked.

“Brilliant! They’re gorgeous.”

Geralt grunted and gently laid the stalks on the counter. One of the pink blooms fell off and Jaskier picked it up as Geralt poked at the register. Someone should really talk to him about his bedside manner. Not Jaskier, what did it matter to him if the flower shop closed in two months? It’d been a bakery last year, and a pool supply store before that.

The flower felt slippery in his fingers. He held it up, examining the petals while turning it around so that the white part pointed upwards. He frowned, then rolled his eyes before breaking out in a laugh.

“Something wrong?” Geralt asked tersely.

“No,” Jaskier replied between bouts of giggles. “I just figured out why my client wants these, because why else would a blasted cutthroat defense attorney want bleeding hearts on her leg?”

Geralt raised a questioning brow.

Jaskier held the upsidedown flower beside his cheek. “It’s a penis. See?” That made so much more sense for Yen. A collection of disembodied pricks dancing along her leg. He’d play that up a little in the design. The roses could be a little more evocative too.

“Ah, I see.” Geralt went back to his register, but Jaskier was almost certain that Geralt’s cheeks had gone faintly pink.

Jaskier continued playing with the flower while Geralt ran his card. The price wasn’t steep, more than Jaskier wanted to pay, but not bad. Geralt carefully wrapped the blooms in plastic and tied a matching bow around the bouquet.

That was unexpected.

“Nice bow,” Jaskier said, reaching for the flowers. His fingers brushed Geralt’s. The touch came with not entirely unexpected zings. Jaskier had noticed he was attracted to Geralt. It was hard to miss.

The flush on Geralt’s cheeks brightened as he snatched his hand back and leaned on the counter. He was probably trying to ignore the touch altogether. Jaskier knew the look of someone not comfortable in their own skin. He’d been that person, once upon a time, before he’d made his skin his own with crisp lines and bright colors.

He toned down his flirting attempt. He didn’t need to be punched in the face by his new shop-neighbor. Though being pushed up against a wall by him had its appeal. Jaskier hadn’t been manhandled in far too long.

Smiling a blander smile and tucking those thoughts away for a later, and alone time, Jaskier cradled the flowers against him. “Thank you, and really, if you need anything, just stick your head in and holler for me.”

“What would I need?”

Oh, dear lord, there was no winning with Geralt. “A cup of sugar. See you later.”

Jaskier beat a hasty retreat. His shop door closed behind him with a firm click and he let out a long sigh. That could have gone better. Why couldn’t he have gotten a mother-earth type flower shop proprietor? Geralt looked like he could make plants wilt from glaring at them too long, and he had a body that suggested he hadn’t spent most of his life on his knees with his fingers in the dirt.

Jaskier’s cock gave a little throb at the idea of Geralt on his knees, and he gave his crotch a firm look. “No,” he said, trying to make sure it got the message. Some people were simply off limits.

The bleeding hearts he settled in a vase next to his drafting table, and smiled at the loose bloom he still had in his hand. He clipped it to the corner of his drawing, the white petals upright.

The door chimed and Jaskier jumped. “Welcome to The High—oh.”

It was Geralt. He had another stalk of bleeding hearts in his hand. He thrust the flowers out at Jaskier. “I didn’t include this one at first because the flowers aren’t as nice but they do…they do look a lot like cocks. So I brought them for you. No charge.”

Jaskier carefully took the stalk, and despite his better judgment, let his pinkie trail over Geralt’s knuckles as he did so. This time Geralt didn’t immediately pull back. When he finally let go of the stem, he crossed his arms and the corner of his mouth turned up into what was almost a smile.

“Thank you,” Jaskier said. “That was very nice of you.” And completely unexpected. Maybe Jaskier wasn’t barking up the wrong tree with the bloke after all. He gestured at the table. “There’s the design if you want to see.”

Geralt followed him to the drawing, arms still crossed, and studied the collection of roses, ferns, and African violets. “It’s pretty,” he said at last, voice gruff. With one finger he traced the edge of a rose, then reached up to touch the bleeding heart Jaskier had slid into the clip. “And I always thought that instead of a heart, these looked more like the head of a cock, and that’s not blood dripping out of them.” He took a quick step back. “I’ll see you later.”

Jaskier couldn’t find his voice to reply as Geralt turned on his heel and strode out of  _ The High Note _ .

Really, those jeans had to violate ten or twelve obscenity laws.

And now he really didn’t know what to think about his shop-neighbor. That had been far from a punch in the face. He’d brought Jaskier cocks. How thoughtful.

Laughing, Jaskier spun around in glee. He flipped on the radio, locked the door, and got to work adding the bleeding hearts to Yen’s design, though all he could see was how well Geralt filled out a pair of jeans. 

Art by the amazing queenseptienna


	2. Roses

The sun still hid below the horizon, making dawn barely a suggestion of lightening sky and birdsong. Geralt turned the engine of his pickup off, sitting in the silence with his cup of coffee. The little strip mall was still asleep, no lights on in any of the shops. He appreciated the quiet. At this point he doubted he’d ever sleep in again, but he didn’t mind. Early mornings were peaceful with just him and the songbirds.

Geralt stifled a yawn. The hour or two of sleep he’d managed meant he was in for a long day of coffee.

So much rode on him making the shop a success. Geralt swallowed a long drought of the bitter black coffee. He’d been a soldier for a long time, but it’d been his sister’s death that’d hit him hard. He missed her, even if she’d been kind of an asshole. She and her husband had died in a car accident, one of those random, terrible things that happened all the time. And now Geralt was in a custody battle with the husband’s parents over his niece.

It’d be much easier if he could simply deal with things the way he’d been trained for the last decade. Guns were easy, people were difficult.

He took another drink of coffee. 

The other reason he’d slept poorly, besides the usual glut of PTSD nightmares, was the owner of one tattoo shop.  _ The High Note  _ sat shuttered in the early morning stillness, its neon open sign dark.

If he sat here any longer, he’d start thinking about Jaskier, and he didn’t need to do that, not when he had a mission. It hardly seemed fair that fate had dumped someone with that exact mix of brash confidence, soulful eyes, and damned adorable smile right into Geralt’s lap when he least needed it.

Dammit, now he was thinking about the guy, who Geralt was almost certain had been flirting with him. That was unusual.

Or it’d been so long since Geralt had dated he was imagining things.

Probably that.

With a grunt, he swung down from the truck’s cab and carried the coffee inside his shop.

The scent inside, humid air rich with dirt and flowers, welcomed him. Unlike people, plants were simple.

They didn’t flirt. Or have fine-boned, clever hands.

Geralt tossed down the end of his coffee. He really needed to focus.

*

_ Two Days Later _

The shop door opened and closed, and Geralt hated that he knew just from the footsteps that it was Jaskier.

He turned to find the man wearing a wide grin and holding up a bag. “Lunch! I got you a regular roast beef and I’ll be having a meatball sub.”

They hadn’t made lunch plans, not that Jaskier would be worried about something like that. Geralt had spent the morning putting together sample bouquets for a midsummer celebration display. Bright orange and red blossoms, including roses, sat in summery yellow containers. He wasn’t done but roast beef sounded much better than the pre-packaged protein bar sitting under the counter. Still, he didn’t need to sit with the tattoo artist over sandwiches.

Jaskier would probably want to talk.

“I’m fine,” he said, right as his stomach growled loudly, the traitor.

Jaskier raised a brow. “I suppose in your world ‘fine’ means the same as ‘desperately starving’.” He perched himself on the stool behind the counter and started laying out the food. “We’re going to eat, and no telling me no. I’m dreadfully bored. Nobody ambles into a tattoo parlor Wednesday at noon on a whim.”

That was probably true.

Jaskier kept showing up to buy flowers as models for designs, or to talk at Geralt, or to stand around and look tempting. The guy must be off his rocker to voluntarily spend time with Geralt, who knew he wasn’t exactly a great conversationalist. He didn’t need to be. In general, it’d been a bad idea to have a chat with a target before giving them lead poisoning.

Jaskier would run the other way if he ever knew a tenth of the things Geralt had done.

Still, Jaskier’s voice wasn’t unpleasant and he would talk forever if Geralt simply grunted at the right points during a rambling monologue.

To Geralt’s surprise, he didn’t hate that.

He came over to lean against the counter. He tried not to look as Jaskier sucked sauce off his fingers. Geralt absolutely did not stare as Jaskier flicked his tongue over the end of them, then wrapped his lips around his forefinger and hollowed his cheeks as he cleaned it.

Really, had that been necessary?

Geralt had never been so grateful for a customer as when the door opened and a woman in sunglasses stepped inside. She had a neatly pressed pair of slacks on and her blonde hair was cut into the type of severe bob that suggested she’d like to speak to a manager.

“I need lilies,” she said, pushing her sunglasses up as she eyed him like he might bite.

“What kind of event do you need them for?” he asked, mentally running through the stock he had in the back. There were a few premade funeral arrangements.

The woman’s eyes widened. “Excuse me. I don’t think that’s any of your business.”

He tried for a smile, made difficult by the tightness of his jaw. “I have several different varieties,” he said through clenched teeth. “From tiger lilies to a few late blooming Easter Lilies.”

“What the hell would I do with Easter Lilies at a funeral. Are you stupid?” she huffed.

Geralt pressed his hands against the sides of his legs, trying to keep from forming fists. He could hardly bark at her that he’d been well on his way to graduating with a biology degree, complete with honors, once upon a time.

He carefully controlled his voice. “I have some premade bouquets if you’d like—”

“Lilies,” she interrupted, enunciating while giving the word far more syllables than usual.

Geralt sighed. “I’ll get a selection from the back—”

“What? You don’t have them on display? How am I supposed to choose? This place is atrocious, I will be reviewing you on yelp as soon as I get home.”

“Do you want to see the flowers or not?” he snapped.

The woman gasped, dropped her sunglasses back into place, and left.

“Fuck,” he said after the door swung closed behind her.

Jaskier materialized at his side. “Well, that was fun.”

Geralt shook his head. He couldn’t afford to lose sales. “I should have apologized.”

“Yes, you really seem like the groveling type.” Jaskier patted his back.

Jaskier would be the one begging if—

Geralt stopped that line of thinking. Complications were not needed when he was so close to getting partial custody of his niece. He unwrapped the sandwich and took a huge bite.

“I don’t know what that sandwich did to you.” Jaskier opened a package of salt & vinegar chips. “But I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone chew so aggressively.” He held out the chips. “Crisp?”

“No.” Geralt took another bite of the sandwich, trying to move his jaw with less emphasis.

“That harpy was completely unreasonable.” Jaskier licked salt off his upper lip in a move that made Geralt want to grab him and slam him against the wall so he could do the licking himself. “Though your customer service could use some work.”

He dropped his sandwich on the counter and braced his hands against it with a sigh. “The flowers sell themselves.”

“Well, yes, sometimes. And you’ve done such an amazing job this morning. It’s gorgeous in here.”

Geralt did not look up. Jaskier would never shut up about it if he saw the effect his words were having. That was why Geralt had chosen to open the flower shop instead of taking steadier work with someone else for a boss. There was plenty of ugliness in the world, and he’d caused enough of it that sometimes he wasn’t sure if he’d become more monster than man. When he’d had the chance to choose what he’d make a living at, Geralt had chosen life.

Jaskier came to lean against the counter. His hip, in his ever present skinny jeans, rested close enough to Geralt’s hand that all Geralt would have to do is stretch out his pinky and he could hook Jaskier’s belt loop.

Geralt straightened up and put his hands in his pockets. “I’m not done.”

The bell over the door rang again as a middle-aged man walked in, glancing around nervously. His suit looked tailored and Geralt could see a shiny red convertible parked in front of the shop.

“Eat,” Jaskier said. “I’ve got this one.”

Geralt raised a brow.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” Jaskier said, the perkiness making Geralt roll his eyes. “How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for flowers for a…friend.” The man said, running a hand over his thinning hair.

“What a very lucky lady, to have such a thoughtful friend.” Jaskier’s smile became conspiratorial. “Are these flowers in any way apologizing for something? Or are they more of a—shall we say, invitation?”

“That,” the man said, appearing vastly relieved that Jaskier hadn’t made him explain himself. Geralt hoped the guy’s wife figured out he was a cheating peace of shit soon, or maybe he made enough money that she didn’t care.

Not that Geralt had any clue how to hold a relationship together. When you were sent into enemy territory for months at a time, the best he’d ever been able to do was convenient mutual satisfaction. He’d expected to be dead long before he’d ever have to worry about words like long-term.

“What do you suggest?” the man asked, glancing around the shop.

“Red roses, of course. Classics are always the best for this kind of situation. Don’t want to muddy the waters by sending something that could mean ‘friends’.”

The man nodded enthusiastically. “A dozen red roses, please.”

Jaskier snorted.

“Something wrong with that?” the man asked, eyes narrowing. Geralt didn’t want to lose an eighty dollar sale but didn’t know what to say.

“If a bloke bought me a single bouquet of roses, I would not be putting out for him.”

Geralt nearly choked on the bite of sandwich in his mouth.

The man looked thoughtful. “How many?”

“Two dozen stems at a minimum, for four I’d be on my knees with my mouth around the fellow’s prick in a heartbeat.”

Geralt grabbed for his water bottle to wash down the sandwich before he killed himself with it. Did Jaskier have to use words like knees and prick? His accent made the words sound even dirtier.

The man rubbed his temple. “Uh, four dozen roses, please.”

“Cash?” Jaskier asked with a raised brow.

“Of course,” the man grumbled.

Geralt swept the trash from lunch off the counter and hustled to the back of the shop to tie together four bouquets of red roses. He wished he could afford another four. He could imagine…well, he could imagine a lot of things. What he should be imagining is how far three hundred dollars went towards his rent.

He owed Jaskier for the sale.

Damn it.

Did Jaskier always have to be such a ray of sunshine?

Geralt boxed the roses and carried them out to the passenger seat of the man’s car. The guy muttered a thanks and roared the engine before squealing the tires as he peeled out. Geralt shaded his eyes and looked west, towards where the Rockies were, but there wasn’t any wind and the mountains weren’t even a haze on the horizon.

“What a tosser,” Jaskier said as Geralt returned.

“Asses like that always have the money.”

“Mores the pity.” Jaskier shook his head and his dark hair swept over his brow. Geralt managed to not reach up and push it back so he could see Jaskier’s eyes better. Eyes so blue shouldn’t be capable of such warmth.

“I should finish the display,” Geralt mumbled. How was lunch already over?

He picked up a bright orange marigold and twirled the stem between his fingers as he inspected it for imperfections. The bouquet he was building was supposed to be reminiscent of fireworks, and the pops of orange from the marigolds would work perfectly. Geralt didn’t like fireworks, the noise and the smell brought to mind things he’d rather not think about, but they were pretty when they were on the television with the sound turned down.

“Those are nice,” Jaskier said, from not nearly far enough away.

A very warm finger touched him through his shirt, making him freeze. He couldn’t even get a breath in.

“I’d love to ink you.” Jaskier’s voice was lower than normal, huskier, sending a shiver through Geralt’s middle. “Maybe right here? Could do a flower like you’re holding.” Jaskier slowly spiraled a fingertip just below Geralt’s shoulder. The thin fabric of his shirt wasn’t enough protection.

Geralt sidled away from the touch. “No.” It was impossible. What would the lawyer for Ciri’s grandparent’s say if the shark knew Geralt had a tattoo? Or what would Jaskier say, if he saw the scars?

“Not scared of a little needle, are you?” The tone was light, teasing, but when Geralt peeked at Jaskier’s face, his eyes were clouded, the usual mirth dimmed.

Geralt had done that, dimmed his light. His gut clenched.

He wouldn’t be the reason for any more sunshine being snuffed out.

“No. Never. And I have work to do.”

“Yeah, mate, I’m sure you do.”

The bell over the door sounded like a death knell as Jaskier left, but it was better this way. Some things should be nipped in the bud. 


	3. Tulip

The door to  _ The High Note _ opened behind Jaskier. He immediately straightened from the tattoo gun he was fussing with. With a flourish, he canted his hips to the side, hoping the tightness of his black jeans and the amount of time he’d spent on his hair wasn’t too obvious.

It wasn’t flirting. Jaskier would not flirt with Geralt. The man was impossible. Jaskier was simply letting the berk know what he was missing.

Aiming for ‘easy charm’ with his smile, Jaskier turned around. His face fell immediately. “Hello, Yen. You’re early.”

“Client canceled. Or rather, I got a notification that he’s no longer with the living.” She tapped a manicured nail against her lip while studying Jaskier.

“I didn’t know death was the kind of thing that stopped you.”

She rolled her eyes. “I didn’t kick any puppies on the way in. You don’t need to glare.”

“I’m not—” He closed his mouth. He was glaring because he hadn’t been smiling for her.

Yen stalked over to circle him like a shark. “New plugs in your ears that match your cuffs, a clean shirt, and it looks like you had to sew yourself into those jeans. Who’s the lucky guy?”

“No one,” he mumbled while attempting to not think of pale hair and broad shoulders.

Yen snorted. “You just decided to get all dolled up for no reason?”

“Did you come here just to drag me? Or do you want me to work on your tattoo?” Couldn’t they talk about something safer? Like world peace or the price of orange juice, instead of her trying to pry information out of him about the bastard next door? The bastard that’d done an excellent job of pushing Jaskier away two nights ago and had then managed to be “busy” since?

Yen raised an exquisitely plucked brow. “Fine. But I know you’re lying and I’m going to figure out the truth.”

“Objection,” he said with a sigh, grabbing the material he needed to start tracing the design onto her thigh.

Yen hopped into her usual chair and shimmied around until she had her skirt hiked up to bare her thigh. It was a lovely thigh, smooth and toned. There was a lot to be said for personal trainers. Jaskier flipped on the bright light over the chair before donning a pair of black gloves. He ran his hand down her thigh, admiring his canvas.

“Should your mystery man be jealous?” Yen teased, her attention already on her mobile. She was a wonderful person to work on, staying still and not endlessly chattering.

Jaskier carefully placed the design over her leg. “You know he shouldn’t. I’m not actually sure he’s even interested in the way I’d like him to be.”

“You got pretty for him and you don’t know if he wants to fuck you or not?”

Jaskier looked heavenward. “You have such a way with words. And no, I don’t. I haven’t exactly asked him if he fancies blokes or not.”

“I’ll ask him for you.”

“Don’t you dare.”

That’d be an unmitigated disaster if it turned out Geralt simply thought Jaskier had no manners instead of being turned on when Jaskier had made a show of licking his fingers. What if the entire time Geralt had been thinking: that idiot really should be using a napkin?

Jaskier hunched over Yen’s leg, concentrating on the work and not anything else. Not the scent of flowers or attempting to come up with the right word to describe Geralt’s eye color.

Light amber, perhaps?

Eventually, Jaskier settled into the work. Yen scrolled her social media and engaged in furious rounds of texting.

The door opened sometime later, and Jaskier looked up from the lines he was inking in. Judging from the amount of work he’d done, he’d been working for several hours, well past the time Yen had booked. 

Geralt stood just inside the door, his face unreadable. The rest of him made Jaskier’s mouth water. Trousers that clung in the right places, a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and hair hanging loose around his shoulders. Geralt’s gaze swept over Jaskier and how he was leaning over Yen.

“Everything alright?” Jaskier asked, wiping Yen’s thigh.

Geralt’s lips pressed together. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Go ahead,” Yen said, her eyes on Geralt. “I’m Jaskier’s friend.” The way she said friend implied there were naked shenanigans going on. Which, no thank you.

“Yen,” Jaskier protested.

She waved a hand at him.

Geralt looked like ice wouldn’t melt in his mouth. “I should come back when you’re less busy.” He turned on his heel and walked back out, somehow blending immediately into the shadows, like they were his natural habitat.

Yen twisted so she could look at Jaskier. “Oh, honey, you can stop worrying. That man is interested.”

“You think so?” The words came out an octave higher than he’d meant them to. Jaskier coughed.

She laughed. “Are you blind? I thought he was going to murder me and then fuck you on the floor. Jealousy is too tame a word for what he was feeling. What’s his name?”

Little zips of excitement pinged through him. “Geralt, he owns the place next door.”

“He doesn’t look like the kind of person that would own a flower shop.”

“He’s very good with plants and arrangements,” Jaskier said, feeling defensive. Geralt wasn’t here to defend himself. He rubbed Aquaphor onto Yen’s leg with more force than was necessary.

“I never said he wasn’t. You can stop punishing me. A little pain turns me on, anyway.”

His touch immediately gentled.

Yen stretched the leg he wasn’t working on. “He is a snack. I’d dress up for him too.”

“Don’t you dare,” Jaskier grumbled.

She patted the top of his head. “I won’t, and I don’t think this Geralt appreciates the female form in the way I like to be appreciated. Or maybe he just really likes you. Anyway, play nice when he comes back. I’m not sure he even realizes how badly he wants you.” She smiled with a touch of sadness. “It’s nice to see someone appreciate you for being you.” One cool finger trailed over the briars inked on his forearm. “Call me if you need to talk, or if you need me to make him jealous again.”

Jaskier laughed. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terror?”

“All the time.”

****

The black gloves gave a satisfying snap as Jaskier launched them into the bin. He shook his hands out and stretched his fingers before checking the clock.

Five minutes to closing. After Yen had left he’d done a matching pair of tattoos for a couple he was certain would be history by Labor Day. Which meant he’d potentially get a second round of payment from both of them when they wanted a coverup.

The door opened, letting in chilly night air and Geralt.

“You’ve been closed for hours,” Jaskier said.

“Yeah.”

He managed to not roll his eyes. “Did you come to…I don’t know, talk? Have dinner?”

Geralt’s face didn’t change. “No.”

Were they playing twenty bloody questions? Well, two could play this game.

Jaskier crossed his arms and waited.

And waited.

Geralt fished a paper out of his pocket. After a moment, he held the folded square out to Jaskier.

“What’s this?” he asked, snatching it out of Geralt’s hands. Maybe it was an awkward way of Geralt asking him on a date, or to be friends with benefits or even just a request for a specific sex act that afterward neither of them would ever mention again. His hope changed to confusion as he unfolded the paper and was presented with a series of pictures obviously printed from the web. Every single one was of yellow tulips.

Jaskier had no idea what he was looking at. “Yeah,” he said, waving the paper at Geralt “I’m going to need you to say actual words.”

“I want a tattoo.”

Jaskier froze. “Really?”

“On my back, where it can’t be seen. I thought…it’s for my niece. Yellow tulips are her favorite.” He glanced towards the door. “I brought some too, but didn’t want to bring them in until you decided yes or no.”

“Yes, of course. Now?” Please let it be now. Jaskier didn’t want to give Geralt a chance to change his mind. It was a little thing, but knowing that his art would forever be on this man’s skin made Jaskier a little giddy. No matter what happened in the future, Geralt wouldn’t be able to forget Jaskier existed.

He liked that idea more than he probably should.

Geralt nodded.

“Get your blooms then, I think I have an idea of what I want to do.”

Hurrying to his design table, Jaskier set up a new piece of paper and sharpened his pencil. Geralt returned with a handful of bright yellow tulips.

“Are these alright?” Geralt asked. His finger stroked the roundness of one of the blooms in a way that was very distracting.

Jaskier hummed an agreement before selecting three of the flowers and arranging them into a loose bouquet. No, it wasn’t right. This wasn’t simply a pretty arrangement, it represented someone Geralt must care for very much. Carefully, Jaskier inspecting all three before picking the one he thought looked best. He poked the leaves into position and turned to look at Geralt’s face.

Which, predictably, didn’t give a thing away.

Someday, Jaskier would see Geralt without that mask of perfect self-control in place, hair mussed and cheeks flushed. With a shake of his head, Jaskier pushed ideas of seduction away. Those were for later.

“I like it.” Geralt’s voice was low.

“Brilliant, go drink a bottle of water while I draw. Fridge is over there.” Jaskier waved at the corner of his shop before leaning over his table and getting to work transforming the flower into a tattoo design. Most of his attention focused itself on the drawing, but part of him remained very aware of where Geralt was inside the shop. The fridge door opening, the sound of the cap to the water going in the bin, Geralt’s steps as he paced along the wall covered with photos of Jaskier’s designs.

“There’s a lot of plants here,” Geralt said after a while.

Jaskier shrugged a shoulder. “I like drawing them, no two are ever alike.”

Geralt made a noise that might have been agreement, but Jaskier didn’t worry about it. He had a workable design down. Straightening up, he stretched. “All done, now where do you want me to—” His words turned into a squeak as he turned around.

Geralt stood shirtless in the middle of the shop, his lips wet from the water he was drinking. Air didn’t seem to be interested in getting in or out of Jaskier’s lungs as Geralt raised the bottle to his mouth and tilted his head back to drink the end of the water, his adam’s apple bobbing.

A whimper escaped Jaskier.

That wasn’t blasted fair.

He cleared his throat as Geralt casually tossed the bottle into a recycle bin. “Where do you want me to do you?” Jaskier finally managed to ask.

Geralt’s eyebrow raised.

Bloody hell. “The tattoo? Where do you want the tattoo?”

“My back.”

Thank goodness for small favors, Jaskier wouldn’t have to worry about hiding the amount of ogling he was doing. “Right, I’ll just set up the chair and we’ll get started.”

Geralt gracefully straddled the offered seat of the specialized chair Jaskier directed him to. He settled his face in the holder, his arms curled around the front, and his shins resting against their supports. It left his back bare, and Jaskier aching to run his palms over the taut muscles on display.

That probably wouldn’t be very professional of him.

“Is your right deltoid okay?”

“Yes.” Geralt said.

“Good, now relax, I’m going to prep my gun. I’m assuming you’re not worried about the pain.” Scars littered the skin of Geralt’s back. A particularly nasty one curled in a ropy, uneven line around his left side.

“No.”

What a delight it would be if they sat in silence the entire time. “You’re still not relaxed.”

Geralt grunted, then raised and lowered his shoulders. He still looked tense.

Setting the gun aside, Jaskier grabbed a bottle of lotion. Despite not wanting to, he pulled on a pair of gloves. “This is going to be cold at first, I’m just going to do a little skin prep.” He squirted the unscented lotion into one black-vinyl covered palm and slowly settled his hand on the magnificent expanse of back in front of him.

Slowly, he circled his hand.

Geralt’s muscles flexed. His back arched, almost like he was pushing himself into Jaskier’s touch. It was a very, very good thing that Geralt’s face was turned away because the cockstand Jaskier was working on from barely touching Geralt with one gloved hand was frankly rather embarrassing.

The bunched-up muscles Jaskier was rubbing became less knotted with every pass, and Jaskier added his other hand. He worked the lotion into not only the spot the tattoo would go, but along the sweep of Geralt’s spine, over the other shoulder, and finally into the nape of his neck.

“Feels good,” Geralt said, voice raspy in a way that had Jaskier’s cock throbbing.

“Excellent, I’m going to get started.” He scooted his stool over and sat down. He picked up the gun and nudged the foot pedal into place. “So you know how it feels, here’s the gun with no ink.” Jaskier chose a place near the site Geralt had chosen and drew a straight line across it with the needles going.

Geralt didn’t move.

“Is that going to be alright? There might be some burning as well if I need to go over the same place more than once.”

“I’ll be fine.” Geralt sounded almost bored.

Resisting the urge to abandon the entire process and simply plaster himself to Geralt’s naked back, Jaskier transferred over the design and began the process of inking it in. The minutes of silence hung heavy over him. “Tell me about your niece.” Geralt had to care for her if he wanted a tattoo to represent her. A horrible thought went through him. “This isn’t a memorial tattoo, is it?”

“No. She’s fine. Ciri is eight and too smart for her own good. My sister and her husband died, and I’m…I want to share custody with her grandparents on her father’s side. She’s all I have left of my family.”

“And the tattoo?” Jaskier didn’t want to pry, that Geralt was telling him this much felt like a minor miracle. Dead family and a custody battle did have a chilling effect on Jaskier’s libido, thank god.

“She means the world to me.”

Something dangerously warm and soft unfurled in Jaskier’s chest. “What kinds of things does she like to do?”

Amazingly, Geralt launched into a story about the zoo, then one about story time at the public library. It quickly became clear that he loved his niece. That dangerous warmth in Jaskier’s chest kept growing. Geralt as doting uncle was not something Jaskier had been imagining, but the idea of him buying Ciri sweets and taking her to see the polar bears was too sweet to do anything but sigh over.

After a while Jaskier picked up the conversation, nattering on about places he’d been hiking in the high country that had flowers in spring, and about his favorite places for craft beer in Aurora and Boulder since Geralt made a grunt that sounded affirmative when Jaskier asked if he liked beer.

Eventually, the talking trailed off as Jaskier concentrated harder on the colors and shading. He left the stem and leaves in black and white, only coloring in the yellow. The final result was gorgeous if he did say so himself.

He snapped a pic with his mobile before pushing his stool back.

“All done,” he said.

Geralt didn’t move.

“Alright, um, I’m just going to put Aquaphor on it and tape on a bit of plastic. I can change it for you at lunch tomorrow.”

That part went quickly, but Geralt still didn’t respond.

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked after making sure the last piece of tape was secure.

Nothing.

He walked around to the front of the chair and ducked down.

Geralt’s eyes were closed and his face was relaxed. He let out a tiny, adorable snore.

“Well, that’s new.” Jaskier straightened up. He’d never had a client fall asleep during a tattoo before.

What the hell was he supposed to do with the large, handsome, half-naked man asleep in his shop?


	4. Evening Primrose

Geralt yawned and stretched as he woke up. It’d been ages since he’d slept that well, without a single bad dream. His back was sore, and he shifted on the bed, only to realize he couldn’t because something blocked his movements.

He opened an eye, then sat up, reaching for a knife that wasn’t there.

Where the fuck was he?

He was lying on a very worn leather couch in a small office, the only light filtering in from a partially open door. A noise beside him made him whip his head around.

Jaskier slouched, head bobbing in sleep, on a rickety plastic chair beside the couch. His hair hung over his forehead and his dark lashes fanned over his cheeks. He looked absurdly uncomfortable.

The dots connected in Geralt’s head. He’d been getting a tattoo, which explained the area of hurt tickling his shoulder blade. The couch didn’t have such an easy explanation. This had to be some kind of office in Jaskier’s shop, but there simply wasn’t any way Jaskier had carried Geralt back here. He must have slept through being prodded up and to the back room.

That last thing he could remember was Jaskier’s voice rambling on about this and that. It’d been so nice to listen to.

Geralt still couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep that hard.

He checked his phone. It was three in the morning. He supposed he should get an hour or two more of shut-eye before going to get coffee and breakfast for him and Jaskier. It was the least he could do when Jaskier had been kind enough to help him to somewhere comfortable to rest. He swung his legs back up on the couch, which was hardly the worst place he’d slept in his life. No rocks under him, no mice or insects crawling over him.

Jaskier snorted in his sleep and his head lolled alarmingly to one side. That was going to be painful in the morning.

“Fuck,” he grumbled. It was bad enough Jaskier had been kept from his bed because Geralt had fallen asleep, he didn’t deserve a sore neck. If they changed places, Jaskier lying down and Geralt in the chair, it’d maybe prevent some stiffness.

Geralt slid closer to where Jaskier listed in the chair. If Geralt was careful, he could move Jaskier from the chair to the couch without waking him up.

Ever so slowly, Geralt put his hands on Jaskier’s arms. When Jaskier didn’t stir, he shifted and slid his arms around Jaskier, tilting him forward so Jaskier’s head rested on Geralt’s shoulder. It was sweet, an almost-hug. The intimacy of Jaskier’s breath tickling his neck could quickly become addictive.

Geralt heaved Jaskier over to the couch. Jaskier’s loose limbs went everywhere, and he was a lot heavier than Geralt had been expecting. Adjusting his grip, he scooted back, hauling Jaskier along with him. The result was Jaskier’s knees straddling his hips and their upper bodies pressed together.

Geralt ignored how his heartbeat picked up. Now was not the time for  _ that _ sort of thing. The tattoo had been risky enough, but he’d wanted something permanent that represented Ciri, just in case she was whisked out of his life. That the person doing the inking would be Jaskier, who Geralt looked forward to seeing every day far more than he should, had also been a big part of his decision. The flower was for Ciri, for himself, and for Jaskier whose light Geralt had been blessed to stand beside for a little while.

Now, if he could ease Jaskier down so his top half was lying on the couch, Geralt could wiggle out and let him sleep. Sometime later, he could remember the weight of Jaskier on top of him, the way he smelled faintly of mint and fabric softener.

For a long moment, Geralt held what he shouldn’t even want. What he shouldn’t crave. He closed his eyes and took a last, deep breath before gently starting to move Jaskier to the side.

He’d only moved Jaskier a few inches before Jaskier stirred and murmured something.

Geralt froze, not even breathing as he silently willed Jaskier back to sleep.

As always, Jaskier didn’t do what Geralt wanted him to.

Blue eyes blinked open. They were sleepy, as was the smile Jaskier gave him. “Hi,” Jaskier said.

Geralt had no idea how to reply to that.

Jaskier leaned in, blinking slowly, pausing when their lips were so close that a rose petal wouldn’t have fit between them. The space felt full of possibility, crammed with a million potentials.

Want throbbed in Geralt’s chest as well as points lower.

Jaskier blinked, then frowned and pushed himself back with a started gasp and his palms on Geralt’s chest. “Wait, what’s happening?”

“You looked uncomfortable.”

“I agree that your lap is much more inviting to sit on than that chair, but more…unexpected.” Jaskier made absolutely no effort to get off.

Geralt shrugged a shoulder. “Unwelcome?”

“No.”

Geralt should ignore his very thrilled dick and move Jaskier away from him while laughing off the entire thing. They’d go back to how things had been, with a little flirting and roving gazes. That would be the sage, smart thing to do. The reasonable thing. His mission was to run a successful business and sleeping with the shop owner next door wasn’t a part of his plan.

Fuck the plan.

Geralt had always done his best when he did what the moment demanded of him. He didn’t want to look back in five years and wonder what might have been. He hadn’t spent endless nights and days with his survival hanging by a thread to stop living when he came home.

“I’m going to kiss you,” he said.

Jaskier’s fingers dug into his chest. “Good.”

Geralt leaned in, not quite all the way, needing to know that Jaskier would lean towards him too. That he was wanted.

Jaskier didn’t even seem to notice Geralt pausing, he simply pressed his mouth to Geralt’s like he’d been waiting for this moment forever. Maybe he had.

Maybe Geralt had too.

The kiss started as an uncoordinated mashing of lips, but then they both tilted their heads right and it became everything he could have ever wished it to be. Jaskier tasted sweet and his lips were warm and smooth. Geralt cupped Jaskier’s cheek, thumb sliding to rasp over barely-there bristle.

Jaskier moaned and his hands rose to grip Geralt’s hair. The movements of Jaskier’s mouth became more demanding, and Geralt parted his lips. Immediately, Jaskier’s tongue invaded, stroking his own before seeking to map his mouth.

Geralt shuddered in bliss. He’d never been possessed quite like this. His previous partners always expecting him to be the rough one. Not that he minded, but it was a thrill to have Jaskier taking and demanding. He couldn’t remember having ever felt so wanted.

Jaskier nipped at Geralt’s lips, immediately soothing the bite with his tongue while Geralt groaned and roughly pulled Jaskier tighter against him. A hardness pushed against his stomach, proof of how much Jaskier was enjoying himself. Fire raced through Geralt’s blood and kissing became not enough. He wanted to see, touch, and taste the man that’d been plaguing thoughts since they’d met.

As if reading Geralt’s mind, Jaskier leaned back and stripped his shirt off over his head, turning his perpetually shaggy hair into more of a mess than usual. Geralt adored it. The rose tattoo on Jaskier’s throat extended down to his collar bones, a prism of muted colors fading into his chest hair. Both of his nipples were pierced with unassuming barbells. Geralt hated that he hadn’t known this detail before and might never have known.

“You’re glaring,” Jaskier said, not sounding put out at all as he ran a finger over Geralt’s jaw.

“Is there any other part of you that’s pierced I should know about?”

Jaskier chuckled. “No, I’ve not been brave enough for that one, though I have thought about it.”

Geralt groaned, trying not to think about what he could do to a man with a ring through his cock. With a growl, he twisted and laid Jaskier down on the couch, pinning him with his body. Jaskier ground up against Geralt, pressing their cocks together while smiling wickedly.

“Fuck,” Geralt said, lowering his head and lashing one of Jaskier’s nipples with his tongue until, based on the noises Jaskier made, he wasn’t smiling anymore. Jaskier’s hands were all over Geralt’s back, stroking and petting until they moved down to Geralt’s rear. He gasped as Jaskier gripped his ass.

“I want you,” Jaskier murmured.

Geralt thrust against Jaskier, hoping the action let Jaskier know he was wanted too, even as Geralt pushed himself up on his hands to look down at Jaskier.

“It’s a bad time for me,” he said.

“What? You have somewhere more pressing to be at whatever early as bloody hell time in the morning it is?”

Geralt shook his head. “Not that. I want to be here, but with the court case…the lawyers will use everything they can against me. I don’t want them to use you.”

Understanding dawned in Jaskier’s eyes. “Ah.” He squeezed Geralt’s ass. “But we can still have this?”

“I don’t want it to be this way. I want to…I don’t know, go on dates with you.”

The corner of Jaskier’s mouth curled up. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?” He calmly circled his hips, making Geralt clench his jaw against the overwhelming pleasure of the movement. “We have lunches, we sit and talk. More I talk and you listen, but close enough. We expect to see each other daily. You were jealous over me tattooing Yen.”

Geralt sighed. “When you put it that way, I guess, maybe?”

Jaskier looked triumphant. “We’ll continue on then, yeah?” Something flickered over his face for a second before he returned to beaming up at Geralt. “I can’t wait to tell you all the things I’m going to do with you.”

“Starting with?” Geralt would do whatever Jaskier wanted. Suck him, fuck him, be fucked by him. Geralt wanted everything and anything, only then tonight would be over and he never wished for this to stop.

Jaskier raised a brow. “Take my trousers off.”

That wasn’t an answer, but Geralt wanted to do that anyway so he complied, sitting up on his knees while admiring his lover’s body sprawled under him. The bulge of Jaskier’s erection strained against the front of his jeans. Eager to get to it, Geralt unsnapped the top and pulled the zipper down. He tugged at the waistband, but the jeans didn’t move.

“Could you have found a tighter pair?” he grumbled, getting a better grip.

Jaskier, who had a hand under the couch, patting around for something, gave him a smug smile. “I wanted to look good for you.”

“You’d look good in anything.” Geralt tugged harder while Jaskier raised his hips. Jeans and underwear slid down, finally freeing Jaskier’s cock. It curved upwards onto his belly, begging for attention.

The sound of a bottle squeezing made Geralt tear his gaze away from Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier dropped a bottle of lube onto the floor—he kept that under his couch?—and reached down to fist his dick. “Thank you for the compliment, but you haven’t seen me try to wear yellow. Now it’s your turn.”

Possibilities thundered through Geralt’s mind as he watched Jaskier slick his cock, all of them pleasurable. Hands trembling with anticipation, he undid his pants and pushed them down to his knees.

Jaskier made a strangled, happy noise and reached for Geralt’s dick. “Lovely prick,” Jaskier said, using his hold to tug Geralt back down on top of him. With a little shimmy, Jaskier aligned their bodies and his hand wrapped around both his prick and Geralt’s. The feeling of finally having their cocks together with nothing in the way was almost more than Geralt could handle.

Somehow, he managed to include one of his hands as well, though it left him with some of his weight on Jaskier. “Too much?” he asked, voice rough at low.

“Just perfect.”

They moved together, thrusting and stroking. Pleasure coiled in Geralt’s belly faster than he wanted it to. He bent his head, seeking Jaskier’s lips. Their mouths met in a messy kiss as they rocked.

Beneath him, Jaskier moaned. “I’m so close. Geralt. Oh, god.” Jaskier’s cock pulsed and bucked with his release. Fuck, that was hot. Warm come covered his hand and dick, spurring him towards completion.

Geralt pumped his hips, thrusting hard into the circle of their fingers. He came quickly, the pleasure momentarily blinding him. He had to let go to brace himself before he smothered his lover as his body went boneless from the bliss. Jaskier grunted softly but wrapped his arms around Geralt tightly as they lay together, the only noise the harsh rasp of their breathing.

“Am I hurting you?” Geralt asked after a moment.

“No, I like this, feeling your weight on top of me. It’s perfect.”

Geralt kissed his temple. “We’ll be cold and sticky in a moment.”

“I don’t sodding care.” The arms around Geralt tightened. “And I don’t care if we end up stuck together forever.” He sniffed and hid his face against Geralt’s neck.

Geralt made soft, calming noises while stroking Jaskier’s mop of hair. It was terrifying to think that he wouldn’t mind being stuck together with Jaskier forever either. There weren’t any forevers. Bad things happened to people. A string of bad things he’d seen happen, some of which he’d caused, played on a loop in his mind.

Bad things that Jaskier never needed to know about. Things that Jaskier would hate him for if he knew.

Geralt had to scramble up, feeling dirty in a way that had nothing to do with come and sex.

Jaskier didn’t move, but lines of worry appeared on his face. Storm clouds in what should be a clear sky.

“Cramp,” Geralt lied. “I’ll clean us up.”

He walked quickly to the store’s restroom and grabbed paper towels. Letting the water run until it was warm, he avoided looking at himself in the mirror over the sink.

After wiping himself down, he returned to find Jaskier sitting on the side of the couch.

“You don’t need to do that,” Jaskier said, not very convincingly, as Geralt knelt and cleaned Jaskier’s hands and belly of every trace of them having been together. It felt sacrilegious. There should be some mark left to show how they’d found each other.

The stinging on Geralt’s shoulder blade increased as he helped Jaskier pull his idiotically tight jeans up.

For a second, Geralt thought he’d hurt himself somehow until he remembered the tattoo.

A mark.

The thought eased his mind. He’d always carry this reminder of Jaskier with him.

Pants in place, but not done up, Jaskier gestured at the couch. “We don’t have to be up for a while.”

“Then you take the couch.”

Jaskier made a face. “Honestly, you’re such a pain. Just lie down.”

Geralt did, and Jaskier pushed at him until he rolled on his side, face towards the back of the couch. With a sigh, Jaskier lay behind him, aligned their bodies, and put his arm around Geralt.

“You’re the big spoon?” Geralt asked, surprised. A thrill went through him at the comfort and warmth of Jaskier’s chest.

“Of course I am.” Jaskier yawned and cuddled closer. “Now go to sleep.”

Geralt closed his eyes, not sure he would sleep as he always got up at o-dark-early, but content, for once, simply to be held. All his other problems could wait for later. 


	5. Marigold

Jaskier slammed into consciousness as his back hit the floor of his office. Geralt pressed him into the ground, body flattened on top of Jaskier.

“I liked it better when I woke up on top of you,” Jaskier said, yawning.

“Quiet,” Geralt whispered, clamping a hand over Jaskier’s mouth. “Somebody’s trying to break in.”

Jaskier’s heart and stomach fluttered. He hadn’t set the alarm after he’d half-carried Geralt to the couch to lie down. Brilliant choice that, with the whole couch idea, but if he ended up with an intruder after his tattoo guns or the paltry sum of cash in the till he would be kicking himself later.

The noise of faint scratching, followed by a click, reverberated through his skull.

“Do you have a gun?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier rolled his eyes. Why would he have a blasted gun? People got shot with those.

There were a few loudly clicking footfalls. “Jaskier?” Yen’s voice called. “Where are you?”

Geralt tensed and Jaskier attempted to wiggle out from under him, but it was too late. Yen appeared in the doorway to the office with a bag from a local bakery and three cups of coffee. She looked the opposite of surprised.

“I have breakfast for when you’re done,” she said, waving at Geralt before walking back into the main part of the shop.

Geralt’s mouth hung open. Jaskier finally succeeded in pushing him enough to the side to be able to stand up. “That’s just Yen,” Jaskier said as he offered his hand to Geralt, who took it and allowed Jaskier to pull him up. “She’s nosy.”

Jaskier yawned again as he walked out of the office in search of the food. Geralt followed, a frown betraying he was cross. Though whether it was with Jaskier or Yen, Jaskier didn’t know.

“Yen won’t breathe a word to anybody,” Jaskier said, but Geralt’s expression didn’t change. “She’s good at secrets.”

Geralt grunted.

“I had a free morning and thought I might stop by to have my tattoo worked on,” Yen said. She’d sat in one of the tattooing chairs and was devouring a muffin.

“You did not,” Jaskier said. The bag crinkled as he fished out a donut and handed one with pink icing and sprinkles to Geralt, who held it like it was a dead bird and not a tasty treat. “Eat it,” Jaskier told him before turning back to Yen, who was attempting to look innocent and failing miserably. “And you did no such thing. I never open this early, you know that. You were driving by and saw my car in the parking lot and decided to let yourself in.”

Yen shrugged. “Your econobox and the truck that somebody parks here since the florist moved in. And quit complaining, I brought breakfast.”

“You picked the lock!”

“And?”

Jaskier pulled out a cream-filled donut and took a huge bite, as he was out of ideas on what to say.

Geralt licked pink icing off his fingers, his donut already gone. “Black coffee?” he asked Yen.

“Of course.” She batted her eyelashes and Jaskier sighed before taking another bite of his breakfast.

Geralt took a long sip. “Good,” he grunted. He frowned at Jaskier. “There’s cream on your chin.” Grabbing a napkin, he licked it and Jaskier suffered the indignity of having his face cleaned with spit. As if he’d needed proof that Geralt routinely cared for a kid.

“Yen,” Jaskier said. “I know you’re congratulating yourself on finding us here, but can you maybe…not say anything about it. Geralt’s trying to get partial custody of his niece.”

Yen’s eyes narrowed. “Who’s your lawyer, and who is opposing you, and do they have representation?”

“She’s a lawyer,” Jaskier offered when Geralt tossed his napkin into the bin with a lot of force.

“I’m working on it,” Geralt growled. “And I need to get ready to open.” He pushed out the front door of  _ The High Note _ without a backward glance.

“Grumpy,” Yen said.

“That’s his normal setting.”

“You know I’m not the divulging secrets type.”

Jaskier claimed the final coffee, which he assumed was the mocha he preferred. “I know, and thank god, because I don’t want to know where you bury the bodies.”

She laughed. “Seriously, can I help at all? I need you to be happy so my ink turns out right.”

“The shop is how he’s proving he can provide for her, so if you have any contacts to help with that I’d appreciate it.”

Her nose wrinkled. “I’m not sure.”

They lapsed into silence while drinking their coffee. The sun had risen well above the horizon, the light the flat kind that said the day would be hot.

“You’re not here to get your tattoo worked on, are you?” Jaskier eventually said.

Yen shook her head. “Still recovering from yesterday.”

“That’s what I thought.”

#

Jaskier waited all morning, only doing one tattoo of a simple heart, before going over to check on Geralt. He ran to get lunch first. Burgers and fries would probably make Geralt less grumpy. Maybe? Probably?

It was worth a try.

Jaskier inhaled deeply as he entered the florist shop. The scent was fast becoming one of his all-time favorites. Dropping the greasy bag of food behind the counter, he spotted Geralt standing cross-armed while a woman haltingly tried to explain that she needed flowers for a present.

The woman’s dark hair was undercut and she had dangly earrings colored pink, purple, and blue. Her expression said she was about to flee. How did Geralt make any sales?

Jaskier slid up to the woman while Geralt glowered.

“Hello,” Jaskier said. “Can I help you? Are you looking for flowers for your girlfriend?”

The woman giggled, her hands playing with the bangles around her arms. “She’s not yet, but I want to suggest that I’d like her to be.”

Jaskier waved the woman towards a set of summery bouquets. “Something not too fancy, then. And I hope she gets the hint. My boyfriend, the lummox, didn’t even know we were dating until I told him so.”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Geralt look heavenward before heading to where Jaskier had left lunch.

The woman snorted. “Sounds about right.”

Jaskier pointed to several options, and the woman picked a simple bouquet full of red tulips and orange marigolds. Geralt rang her up, his expression still fierce, and she wished Jaskier good luck with his boyfriend before leaving.

The door swooshed closed behind her, barely catching before Geralt, half-eaten burger in hand, rounded on Jaskier. “You need to stay out of my business.”

“I’m helping.”

“I don’t need your help. Not with sales, and not with Ciri.” How did Geralt manage to make chewing a hamburger look menacing? His face didn’t soften or his stance ease as Jaskier waited for some hint that this was Geralt’s usual dickishness.

It didn’t come.

Jaskier stuck the fry he’d been about to eat back in the bag. His stomach turned queasy. It’d been ages ago now, but the sick feeling of not being wanted echoed through him, the same as when his father had put him out the door for being gay. He’d thought he’d left that behind, the desire to be wanted, but apparently it’d been waiting for him the whole time, ready to raise its head and bite.

He braced his hands on the edge of the counter. “Fine,” he said. “I’m blasted sorry. I’ll be a good little friend with benefits, alright?” As long as he didn’t get sent packing.

Geralt dropped the wrapper for his burger, his amber eyes blazing. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” Great, now he sounded peevish. Not wanting to deal with any of the mess swirling inside him, Jaskier turned for the door.

A warm pair of arms slid around him. “I…” Geralt started and trailed off. “You don’t have to leave. I’m used to not having anyone…around.”

“It shows.” Jaskier sniffed, determined to not betray how much he was feeling, and give Geralt anything else to throw at him.

“Once I waited fourteen days to kill someone.”

Jaskier turned in Geralt’s arms to find his eyes were glazed over, looking at something that wasn’t Jaskier. “Yes?” Jaskier prompted.

“Army,” Geralt said absently. That explained the scars. They must be far more than skin deep. “Anyway.” He blinked his eyes clear. “Patience is good.”

“Are you telling me to be patient?” What a bloody lot of nerve that was.

“Myself.”

So much pain was in that word that Jaskier could only sigh and gather Geralt against him. “Lummox.”

“I know.” There was a pause. “I don’t mean to hurt you.” Another pause. “Not always.”

Jaskier cupped Geralt’s face between his palms, the skin scratchy with day-old beard. It was a nice face. All of Geralt was nice, from his long, pale hair to his well-muscled calves. And that made everything more confusing. Jaskier had thrown himself into being close to this man since they’d met, and with Geralt being so closed-lipped Jaskier hardly knew anything about him. So far he’d been skirting around asking much outright, in case Geralt didn’t take it well.

But after waking up Geralt’s arms and the utter bliss of making love with him, Jaskier knew he was already in deep. And that meant he couldn’t be afraid, not of rejection and not of simply asking questions about Geralt and his background.

He needed to think and get his head on straight.

Geralt leaned in and kissed him, sending thought right out the door. Geralt pushed him back against the counter, lips and tongue tasting faintly of the mustard from the burger. With a moan, Jaskier fisted the front of Geralt’s shirt to pull him closer.

Light flashed against Jaskier’s eyelids and abruptly Geralt was gone. He stood back, scrutinizing the parking lot where a silver minivan had just pulled in, sunlight glinting off its windows. A single hint of another person and Geralt had let go.

Jaskier understood Geralt not wanting to provide fodder for lawyers to slander him with, even if a same-sex relationship this day and age shouldn’t matter. Jaskier wasn’t naive enough to imagine it wouldn’t, but at the same time, he didn’t fancy being anyone’s dirty secret.

He deserved movie nights and picnics in the Rockies.

“Nobody can see,” he said, hating the peevishness of his voice.

Geralt grunted, then reached for him.

Jaskier stepped back. “I need to think,” he said, heart hammering. “I need…I’m not sure I can do this.”

He turned on his heel and burst out of the flower shop into the muggy midday heat. The bright light beat down on him, making him sweat during the few steps back to the door of  _ The High Note _ .

For a second he hesitated and almost turned back. To apologize and say everything was fine. Only it wasn’t fine. He’d spent a lot on therapy in order to know what fine was.

He wrenched open the door and flipped the sign on the door to read closed.

Jaskier’s head spun as he gathered up his things. It felt like he was floating along behind his body as he armed the alarm system and locked the door.

Space, he needed space, because he was falling in love and it might not be with the right person. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #blamecanon


	6. Bluebells

_Three Days Later_

Geralt’s tiny bedroom held only a bed and a set of plastic drawers. He had a knife taped under the bed for emergencies, but currently, the blade had been removed and relocated to the back the highest shelf in his closet in preparation for Ciri’s visit that afternoon. With nowhere else to sit, he’d ended up on the edge of his neatly made bed.

“I’m sorry,” his lawyer said on the phone. Either the man actually was, or if he was just very good at faking sympathy.

With a grunt, Geralt hung up.

He did not punch the wall. He did not throw his phone. Instead, he placed it on the bed beside him and dropped his head into his hands.

His life was going to hell.

There was no way he could meet the fast-approaching deadline to prove his financial stability. The whole thing was being forced down his throat by the team of lawyer’s Ciri’s grandmother had hired, but if he raged about it, he’d be denied the scant visitation he had with Ciri now. Her grandmother had seemed nice enough the few times he’d met the woman when his sister had still been alive, but she’d turned into a dragon the instant he’d asked for shared custody.

Part of him understood. Ciri was all that was left of her son. But damn it, that shouldn’t mean that he had to lose his relationship with Ciri because the dragon wanted to hoard her.

Frustrated, he stood up, then sat back down again.

There was no way to slay the dragon, and he didn’t have anyone to talk to about it. Not that he wanted to talk, exactly, but Jaskier would know something was wrong and be a thorn in his side until he’d wheedled something out of Geralt.

Wheedling would be nice.

Geralt hadn’t seen Jaskier for three days. Three very long, very Jaskier-less days. And Geralt had no idea what would happen when Jaskier eventually returned. Best case, they’d still be friends of sorts. Or at least get along. Geralt knew he’d screwed up. He fucked up every good thing. Jaskier deserved better than a scarred ex-soldier.

The bed squeaked as Geralt tossed himself backward onto it.

He’d been an idiot to taste what he couldn’t have. Now he knew what heaven looked like while he had continued to exist in the underworld. He didn’t even feel human.

The empty ache in his chest gnawed at him.

What a terrible way to find out your entire life had changed. How had he come to depend on Jaskier’s smile being there every morning?

Geralt dragged himself to his feet. He kicked an old biology textbook under the bed. Last night he’d tried to distract himself from his loss by pulling out his old class materials from college. He might not have finished the degree, but he’d studied a lot of botany before learning how to shoot a man from half a klick away.

Heaving a sigh, he went to pull clean jeans out of the dryer. It was his afternoon to have Ciri, and she didn’t need to see how much was weighing on him.

#

The lights of the ice cream parlor glittered off the bright white tile of the walls and floor. The place nearly glowed. Geralt stood back, arms crossed, as Ciri peered into the glass case at the rows of flavors. She tried a new one each time he brought her to the shop.

“I’ll have the cookies and cream,” she told the freckly faced boy manning the counter. “And my uncle will have butter pecan.” The boy raised a brow at him, and Geralt nodded.

Dishes in hand, he guided Ciri to one of the small tables.

“What if I didn’t want ice cream?” he asked as they sat.

Ciri pursed her lips—she’d was ten going on thirty—and pointed her spoon at him. “You’re sad, so you need ice cream.”

He couldn’t argue that. “It’s been a rough week.” He dug his spoon into the ice cream. What flavor would Jaskier like? Probably something like bubble gum or watermelon.

“You look sad again,” Ciri said. “Better take a bite.” She shoved her spoon in her mouth.

Geralt sighed and ate a bite of his ice cream. It was smooth and rich, with a bit of crunch from a pecan piece. It was perfect, but it didn’t taste as good as usual, because there wasn’t an annoying and adorable tattoo artist sitting with them.

Jaskier and Ciri would get along like houses on fire. They’d laugh and chatter and he’d get to watch the two people he cared about most as they had fun. He might even have fun.

“I’m sorry I’m not saying much,” he told Ciri.

Her gaze snapped to him from where she’d been reading the list of flavors. “You never say much. What made you sad?”

“I like a person, but I made them angry and I’m not sure they like me now.”

“Did you say sorry to them?”

“Not yet.”

Ciri huffed and rolled her eyes in a way that remarkably resembled her grandmother. “Start there. Now finish your ice cream.”

He took another bite, wondering if sorry was even the right word. Or if he should even try to patch up things. Eventually, all this missing he was doing would stop. Wouldn’t it?

#

“You lose!” Ciri cheerfully informed him. She grinned triumphantly and waved her game controller in the air.

Why had he agreed to her choice of video game again?

He leaned back on the leather couch and refused to check his phone for a text from Jaskier. His living room remained almost undecorated, except for the black couch and large TV. He really needed to hang up some of the school photos of Ciri he had, but that would mean going through boxes of photos, which would include ones of his sister. That wasn’t happening anytime soon.

He grunted at Ciri. “What movie are we watching?” Bad choice of stakes. She’d pick something expressly to annoy him.

“Cinderella.”

Geralt handed her the remote. Jaskier probably loved that movie. Or had a long argument about why a different version than the standard Disney one was better. Personally, Geralt didn’t care for the story much. Life had taught him there weren’t any handsome princes waiting to meet you and no fairy godmothers to rescue you.

It’d be so easy to text Jaskier and ask him for his opinion. Or invite him over.

Geralt kept his hands out of his pockets. He wondered what Jaskier was up to while he watched princess movies with Ciri. None of the options that came to mind, which were mostly Jaskier hooking up with random men, did anything but make Geralt more miserable. And jealous. The green-eyed monster had sunk talons deep in his heart.

Even though one tumble on a couch did not a relationship make, especially when one of the parties involved—him—had requested it remain a secret. Dammit, maybe he’d been thinking about this all wrong. Would a long-term relationship be a detriment to his case? It could show stability.

Fuck.

Now he was imagining marrying Jaskier, who could wear a charming suit like the prince in the movie. He even had the dark hair to fit the role of handsome prince. Geralt had no doubt that Jaskier would love to be called that.

Geralt rubbed his temples. Great, now he was imagining marrying the man he’d hurt. Geralt was worse than the wicked stepmother. He was shameless. Couldn’t he be normal and imagine banging his crush like everyone else?

Would Jaskier want a bouquet for his wedding if Geralt made it? White roses, of course. He’d save some for later to tease his new husband’s skin with.

He had to stop.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked Ciri.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “You’re trying to get out of watching the show.”

“Yes.”

“Pizza.”

“Fine. You drive a hard bargain.”

She grinned.

Grumbling, he hauled himself to his feet and shuffled into the kitchen. He had a half-dozen frozen pizzas in the freezer and enough lettuce, tomatoes, and cucumbers to make a decent salad. Ciri probably wouldn’t eat any of it, but it was worth a try.

His phone rang and he snatched it up, hoping for a miracle and that it’d be Jaskier calling.

It was a number he didn’t recognize, but he answered it anyway, just in case.

“Hello,” said a prim voice on the other end. “I’m Amelia, I work for the Denver Health Foundation.”

Geralt’s mind blanked. Denver Health was a big hospital, the one they took the worst cases to. “Is Jaskier alright?” he demanded. He’d figure out later why Jaskier had his number as an emergency contact. “Is he doing okay?”

“I’m with the Denver Health _Foundation_.” She stressed the last word. “I’m sure your loved one is fine. I’m contacting you because I was given your shop’s information as a last-minute candidate to provide flowers for our Midsummer Fundraiser for the Level One Trauma Unit. Are you the owner of White Wolf Florists?”

The sense of relief that Jaskier wasn’t hurt or dying made him breathless, though it came along with a jolt at the woman’s choice of words. Jaskier as a ‘loved one’ fit better than it should. Geralt braced a hand on the kitchen counter while the stove pinged as it preheated. Music drifted in from the living room. “I am.”

“I apologize for the late notice, but I only received your information today. After looking at your summer-themed bouquets online, I believe you are a perfect candidate to provide flowers for the Fundraiser.”

Geralt frowned at the stove. His webpage listed location and a contact phone number. There weren’t any pictures, but he certainly wasn’t about to ask the gift horse where she’d seen them. “That’s excellent,” he said, attempting to imagine what Jaskier would say in this situation. Most likely something inappropriate. “Um, what do I have to do?”

“Final selection will be made tomorrow. If you can please bring samples for the committee to look at by nine in the morning. I will email you the location and what we want you to bring.”

“Sounds good. Will you also be emailing the proposed compensation?”

“Of course. Thank you for your time. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”

Geralt hung up and slid the pizza in to bake. His phone pinged with an email as soon as he shut the oven door. He skimmed the document and his stomach fell. They wanted a lot of very specific arrangements. Ones for podiums, tables, things to hang on the wall. Even if he didn’t sleep there was no way he could prepare this all himself.

He’d nearly given up by the time he scrolled down to the bottom of the email. The number there jumped out at him.

It was a lot. Far more than what he needed to prove himself capable of providing for Ciri. Enough that he could pay for a better website and advertising. He scrolled back up, then back down. The number didn’t change. He needed this, badly, but he couldn’t do it alone.

There was only one person he wanted to help him.

He brought up his contacts and dialed Jaskier.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” Geralt said when he answered.

“Is everything okay?” Jaskier sounded as panicked as Geralt had been earlier.

“Er, yes?”

Jaskier sighed loudly, in what Geralt hoped was relief.

“But I need help,” he continued.

“Is that Cinderella?” Jaskier asked.

Geralt looked heavenward. “Ciri’s here, we’re having pizza and watching a movie.”

“Text me your addy, mate. I’ll be right over. I love Cinderella.”


	7. Azalea

The silence after Jaskier turned his car’s engine off weighed on him. Geralt’s place was a tiny but tidy house with white paint and green trim. The yard was spartan, but a few shrubs and trees that were hardly more than sticks had been planted. In a few years, the place would probably look magnificent.

It was a far cry from Jaskier’s flat, and he found himself oddly jealous of the care Geralt had taken with his home.

Oh dear lord, the man probably made unhappy grunts over wet towels on the floor or socks left under the sofa.

Jaskier found himself grinning.

He’d driven up to Rocky Mountain National Park and sat in the sun while tourists had milled around. It hadn’t cleared his head, it just made him miss Geralt. Staying in a cheap motel had made him miss Geralt. Listening to music while driving had made him miss Geralt.

The bloke had issues, but Jaskier had realized they were probably things that could be worked through. Geralt calling and asking for help had been the deciding factor in Jaskier’s decision to keep trying with whatever this thing was between them. Geralt wasn’t past all hope if he could find it in himself to reach out and ask for assistance.

Jaskier probably owed Yen a free tattoo now, she’d come through in remarkable fashion, as expected. A fundraiser where the city’s glamorous would be able to see ‘White Wolf Florists’ printed everywhere, and it wouldn’t require Geralt to do a lot of one on one selling. It was perfect.

Grabbing a DVD case from the passenger seat, he trotted up to the front door and knocked. Immediately, the door opened to reveal a young blonde girl with a plastic tiara on her head. “Your boyfriend’s here,” she bellowed.

Geralt appeared. “I never said—” he started, but the girl—who had to be Ciri—interrupted.

“Duh,” she said. “And remember, you have to say sorry.”

To Jaskier’s amazement, the Geralt’s cheeks turned ever so slightly pink. “Come in.” He waved Jaskier inside. The house’s interior surprised Jaskier. Nothing hung on the walls, there weren’t any drapes or much personality at all.

“I thought there’d be more flowers.” He frowned at the living room, which didn’t even have a lamp.

“Hm,” Geralt said.

Jaskier grinned. Blast but he’d missed this fellow. “Ciri,” he said, holding up the DVD in his hands. “I’ve brought you the superior Cinderella.” With a flourish, he bowed and handed it to her.

She grabbed the case and squealed. “Thank you!”

“Superior?” Geralt asked, now leaning against a wall. Maybe that’s why there weren’t any decorations, to increase the number of places for Geralt to casually look delicious while not standing entirely upright. If that was the case, Jaskier approved.

He nodded. “From 1997, with Brandy. It’s my favorite, the singing, the cast, the music.”

Geralt’s lips lifted into a crooked smile. “I knew you’d have opinions.” His mouth pressed back into a hard line. “Let’s talk in the kitchen.”

That sounded ominous, but he contented himself with watching Geralt’s rear while following him into the kitchen. It smelled of cheese and pepperoni, making Jaskier’s stomach growl.

“Almost done,” Geralt said. He planted himself in the middle of the room and crossed his arms. “And I’m sorry.”

“For the pizza being almost done? Don’t be, I’m starving.” Jaskier had every intention of making Geralt work for forgiveness, even if he’d already forgiven him sometime between driving out of Denver and the stop for a burger he’d made on his way to the park.

Geralt blew out a breath. “You’re impossible. Fine, I’m sorry about what I said. That I’m both pushing you away and clinging to you.” He drew in a breath and closed his eyes. “And since Ciri figured out that I like you, I doubt she’ll be quiet about it and honestly, I was probably reacting more to my fear than to reality. I have a house, a business, and a steady boyfriend. What looks more stable than that?”

Jaskier’s heart did a dance. This was better than sorry. “Am I the steady boyfriend in this scenario?”

Geralt nodded. “I’m…I’m not going to be good for you.”

“You were ready to kill an intruder in my shop to protect me. I like that you’re grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” he said, sounding very much like he was trying to not sound grouchy.

“I said I like it.”

Geralt opened his eyes, only to immediately narrow them. “Do you ever behave?”

Jaskier laughed. In the next instant, a strong pair of arms circled him, and a demanding mouth was on his. Ah, he appreciated a man of action. The kiss was rough and told Jaskier he wasn’t the only one who’d been pining.

The oven dinging forced them apart, and he searched through the cupboards for plates while Geralt took the pizza out and cut it.

They ate in the living room, Ciri sitting on the floor while Jaskier and Geralt sat on the couch.

“Did he say sorry?” Ciri asked Jaskier partway through her second bite of pizza.

“Like a champ,” Jaskier said with a smile.

Ciri beamed at Geralt. She bounced over to the couch and removed her tiara, settling in on Geralt’s head instead. With a grave nod, she returned to stuffing her face and watching the musical.

Jaskier couldn’t stop staring. “You’re a sweetheart,” he blurted as Geralt made no move to dislodge the plastic from his head.

“Do not tell anyone,” he grumbled.

Jaskier pulled his mobile out. “I promise.” He snapped a pic while Geralt side-eyed him. “This is just for me.”

Geralt looked heavenward. “Eat. I’ve already got a friend coming over to babysit while we go to the shop.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

Ciri giggled.

#

Arranging flowers turned out to be exhausting. There was a lot of clipping, inspecting, and lifting, the later accompanied by curses from Geralt.

It was well after midnight when the final flower went into the final arrangement. Geralt twisted the white rose just so, making the entire arrangement, one of five potential table toppers, come together perfectly.

Jaskier took Geralt’s hand to lace their fingers together. “Done,” he said, squeezing.

“Maybe.”

“They’re brilliant. Relax, have a beer.”

“I don’t want a beer.”

Jaskier bit his lip to keep from smiling. This was his Geralt. “But you need to let down.” He was answered with a grunt. “Tomorrow will go better if you’re not so tense.”

Geralt waved a hand dismissively, his fingers stained green. It gave Jaskier an idea, and he used their clasped fingers to tug Geralt over to the sink and turned on the water.

“What are you doing?” Geralt rumbled as Jaskier fine-tuned the water temperature and picked up one of the bars of soaps to sniff it. The scent was faintly lavender, which would do nicely. He worked up a rich lather between his palms before taking one of Geralt’s hands and directing it under the warm water. Geralt stretched his fingers, little drops falling from the tips.

Jaskier hummed softly as he both washed and massaged the hand he was holding. After a moment, Geralt exhaled deeply and his shoulders sagged. Quite pleased with himself, Jaskier switched to the other hand. Geralt’s fingers were callused and rough, obviously used to hard work. He had a scar on one palm, the line deep, and Jaskier didn’t want to imagine how he’d gotten it. He also did his best not to imagine all the things he wanted these hands to do to him, things both gentle and wild.

When Geralt’s hands were clean and rinsed, Jaskier carefully dried them, then simply held them between his own as they both stood in the back room of the florist shop, the only noise the hum of the refrigeration units.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Geralt said, in a voice barely more than a whisper.

“Me too.”

Geralt made a noise close to a chuckle, the sound rich and throaty. Jaskier nearly fell against him, wanting nothing more than to be close to the man that had very quickly come to mean so bloody much to him. It’d been ages since he’d felt at home the way he had earlier at Geralt’s house, watching the telly and eating pizza with him and Ciri. Were these the roots so many people talked about? The desire to stay in a comfortable place with those that made being together a pleasure?

He raised Geralt’s hands to his face and breathed in the lingering scent of the lavender soap. He needed to get them into a bed together sometime soon.

“What are you thinking about?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier looked up to meet his eyes. Raising one brow, he turned his head slightly and sucked the tip of Geralt’s finger into his mouth. Geralt’s answering moan made Jaskier draw the finger deeper, stroking it with his tongue.

In the next instant, Jaskier found the hand gone and Geralt shoving his back against the wall. Their mouths crashed together, Geralt’s lips and tongue harsh and demanding as he pinned Jaskier in place. He melted into the fierceness of the kiss, delighted to know just how much he was wanted.

“I’m so glad you missed me,” Jaskier murmured against the mouth mauling his.

“Missed you?” Geralt growled. “You’ve spent this whole time trying to seduce me.”

He had? “What?”

“You keep lifting your shirt to wipe your face, or bending over to grab something. Nobody needs to bend over that much.”

Jaskier had no idea what Geralt meant, the flowers had a mind of their own and liked to end up on the floor, but he’d take it. If being sweaty and butterfingered produced these results, well, who was he to complain?

“No more teasing.” Geralt pinned him against the wall with his whole body, and while Jaskier was only a couple of inches shorter, Geralt was much more powerfully built. Jaskier put his hands over Geralt’s biceps and squeezed, the hard muscles bunching under his palms.

He’d never quite understood the desire to be manhandled before but was quickly developing an appreciation.

Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s hips, using the hold to grind against him, hardness to hardness. Jaskier’s head spun. They wouldn’t be able to hide this desire from anyone. It burned too bright to be snuffed out. Their want was wildfire, flaring hot and consuming them both.

Jaskier seized Geralt’s wrist and brought the hand to his face. Breaking the kiss, he twisted slightly to suck on Geralt’s finger again.

“Fuck,” Geralt muttered.

Jaskier drew his tongue from the scar on Geralt’s palm all the way down his forefinger, giving the tip a tap. “Should I stop teasing now?” he asked, very much wanting to get his mouth on other parts of Geralt.

“No.”

Jaskier didn’t have time to figure exactly what that meant before Geralt planted a hand on Jaskier’s stomach and sank to his knees. It wasn’t submissive or giving, or anything like the usual attitude of someone about to suck his cock.

It was bloody hot.

Jaskier braced his back against the wall to stay upright as Geralt yanked at his button and zip. Undone, Jaskier went to push them down, but Geralt intercepted his hands and firmly placed them against the wall. Jaskier’s prick throbbed. How had he never known he wanted this?

Far too slowly, Geralt peeled Jaskier’s trousers and pants down to his ankles. His cock jutted out, begging for attention.

“Please,” he choked out.

A half-smile curled one side of Geralt’s lips. He fisted Jaskier’s prick, stroking it firmly before leaning in to give the head a soft kiss.

Jaskier’s breath came in harsh pants. It all felt too good, too necessary, like he’d suddenly discovered how to breathe.

Geralt clamped a hand on Jaskier’s hip, met his gaze, and sucked nearly his entire prick down. The needy, pleasured noise Jaskier made should have been embarrassing, but he was far past caring. The mouth on his cock simply too overwhelming. The onslaught continued, Geralt humming his enjoyment as Jaskier moaned his bliss. Despite wanting to keep watching the mesmerizing sight of Geralt sucking his prick, the growing pleasure made his eyelids flutter closed.

Geralt let his prick go, and he whimpered. “Watch,” Geralt growled. Jaskier opened his eyes. Geralt was glaring up at him, and as soon as their gazes met, Geralt nodded sharply and leaned in to lick Jaskier’s sac. It was too much, the warm tongue on his balls and how Geralt stroked his prick, shiny with spit. Jaskier wrenched out of the hold on his hip and thrust into the hand circling his cock.

He cried out in desperation as Geralt sat back to put hard hands on Jaskier’s thighs. Left humping nothing but the air, he slumped back against the wall. “Please?”

Geralt took his cock in his mouth again, but then placed both of Jaskier’s hands on his head. Jaskier threaded his finger into the long, pale strands like he’d imagined doing a thousand times. Geralt didn’t move, so Jaskier gave a tentative rock of his hips. Geralt’s expression turned to one of relief, and his palm cupped Jaskier’s arse, urging him on.

Taking back control, Jaskier braced his feet and gripped Geralt’s hair tight. It didn’t take long fucking his mouth before Jaskier’s release overtook him, exploding like a nuclear blast and spreading indescribable pleasure outward from his groin to encompass his entire being. Geralt’s fingers dug in, hard enough to leave bruises, as Jaskier’s cock pulsed with release. Geralt swallowed, and Jaskier had a moment of vertigo as it felt like he might have given more to Geralt than just a mouthful of come.

Jaskier worked on catching his breath. Geralt sprung to his feet and yanked Jaskier’s shirt over his head. Jaskier pressed his palms to Geralt’s face, holding him still for a kiss. Geralt’s mouth tasted of Jaskier’s pleasure, and Jaskier eagerly tangled their tongues. Geralt fumbled with the front of his trousers, freeing his erection to slide against Jaskier’s belly. It took only a few moments of frantic kissing with Geralt grinding his cock against Jaskier before he came. With a soft grunt, Geralt wrapped his arms around Jaskier and pulled him close as his release ran warm down Jaskier’s body.

Jaskier didn’t want to move, not even when the come turned uncomfortably cool and sticky.

He just wanted to stay in this moment forever, holding the man he loved.


	8. Yellow Poppy

Suits were instruments of torture. Geralt tugged at his cuffs. The damn off-the-rack coat was too tight over his shoulders and the shirt collar was attempting to choke him.

If he didn’t end up with the contract, he was going to burn the entire suit.

Jaskier, after far too few hours of sleep in Geralt’s bed, had run home to dress after insisting that Geralt did not need to face the foundation’s committee alone. They were meeting back at the strip mall their shops occupied, and Geralt had been there long enough to load the arrangements into the back of his truck and change into the one suit he owned. Usually, he wore it when dealing with lawyers or courts, so having it on instantly made him feel like he was about to be judged.

He tugged at the collar again.

Jaskier drove up, radio thumping, and hopped out. Geralt frowned. He had jeans, a band t-shirt, and a blazer on, along with a black-rimmed pair of glasses. Geralt got out of the truck.

“What—” he started.

“Oh, no, no, no, no.” Jaskier bustled over and shook his head. “No tie.” With a deft flick of his wrist, Jaskier had the knot undone and the silk balled around his hand.

“But—”

“And no coat, undo your collar and roll up your sleeves. You’re not a corporate drone.”

Somehow, Geralt found his suit coat gone and his sleeves neatly rolled to just below his elbows. Jaskier undoing Geralt’s top few shirt buttons earned him a confused kiss. “I thought we’re supposed to look professional,” Geralt grumbled. It felt much better to be out of the heavy coat.

“Professional florists, not accountants.”

That made some sort of sense. “I didn’t know you wore glasses.” It seemed a personal affront that he hadn’t known that. First nipple piercings and now glasses. What’d be next?

“I don’t, these are just a fashion accessory. With my accent and a pair of glasses, I become _artistic_ instead of weird.” Jaskier struck a pose and waggled his brows, which was cute. Very cute.

Geralt growled and pulled him close for a kiss. Jaskier made a happy noise and cupped Geralt’s face, his palms warm. When Geralt broke the kiss and leaned back, Jaskier didn’t let go, just stroked his cheeks.

“I like the stubble,” he said.

Geralt couldn’t help smiling. “I didn’t have time to shave.”

“Can you not have time more often?”

He tried to look stern but just ended up kissing Jaskier again. “No.”

Jaskier pouted.

“Sometimes,” he relented. One more kiss and Geralt waved Jaskier around to the other side of the truck.

Time to go slay monsters. Well, convince a committee to pick him, but close enough.

#

The summer sun scorched downtown Denver. Geralt glared in its general direction while he waited for Jaskier to return with a cart for the flowers and directions to where they were supposed to go. The Hospital Foundation was housed in one of the tall buildings that made up the city’s skyline but on what floor he had no clue.

Jaskier reappeared, pushing a handcart with a top and bottom shelf. “Bloke at the front desk was right helpful. We’re going twenty floors up and someone will meet us.”

Flowers loaded, they maneuvered their way through a spacious lobby chilled to near arctic temperatures, and into an elevator that Jaskier described as ‘posh’. As it rose, Geralt’s nerves slowly faded into the background. He knew this feeling, It was familiar and comfortable. It was the one that came when a mission went from planning and briefings to boots on the ground.

He shook out his shoulders while checking on Jaskier, who leaned against the mirrored side of the elevator, evaluating how well he was holding up. Jaskier yawned. Must be doing fine then. Really, if he was smart, he’d ask himself ‘what would Jaskier do?’ and then do it. Treating this as a mission obviously was not what Jaskier was doing.

Geralt slid one foot out of line so that his rigid at-attention posture became less formal. When a twinge of self-rebuke poked at him, he focused on Jaskier, who wouldn’t know or care about things like military bearing. The tattoo on Geralt’s back no longer hurt, but he imagined he could feel it there, a reminder that he’d left his old life behind.

The elevator doors swished open and Jaskier took control of the cart, leaving Geralt with nothing to do but stroll into the front office of the hospital foundation. The colors of the lobby were warm, giving the place a much more welcoming atmosphere than the first floor of the high rise.

A woman dressed like a librarian with her dark hair up in a neat bun bustled over to them. “Hello, hello! I’m Amelia, this way please, which one are you?” She gave him a once over, and he managed a smile that hopefully didn’t look too constipated.

What would Jaskier do?

Geralt took a deep breath. “Amelia, it’s very nice to meet you. We spoke on the phone. I’m Geralt, with _White Wolf Florists_.”

Amelia’s cheeks pinked. “Oh, you’re Tissaia’s suggestion. I’m so glad you made it.” Her eyelashes fluttered in his direction as she ushered them through a door.

Geralt touched her elbow as he passed her. “Thank you.” Her cheeks went from pink to red. As soon as the door closed behind them, he leaned towards Jaskier. “Who’s Tissaia?”

“Hell if I know.”

Geralt looked around the room they’d ended up in. Some kind of large meeting room, but there wasn’t a single big table, just a few smaller rounds scattered around the edges. Several groups of people were already there, the groups in tight knots around tables as they set up their displays. The women were in skirts and the men in full suits.

“We’re underdressed,” he muttered.

Jaskier steered the cart towards a table near the huge windows that dominated one side of the room. “We’re not,” he replied. “They’re overdressed. And their designs are just as stiff.”

“Maybe.” The colors certainly weren’t as bold as his, with far fewer reds and oranges. The palettes tended towards soft pinks, off-white, and muted greens. All colors that suggested ‘hospital’. He wasn’t sure if providing expected blooms would be more likely to encourage Denver’s elite to open their wallets at the gala than his summer-themed arrangements. Too late to change his plan of attack now anyway.

Setting up the display was easy enough, and while Jaskier tsked over one of the marigolds that didn’t want to face the right way, Geralt paused to look out the window. In the distance, slightly obscured by clouds and smog, the mountains rose towards the sky. It was easy to forget they were there. In Aurora, you’d never know anything but prairie existed, and driving into downtown today hadn’t provided any views. Now they looked far away, more a dream of rock and forest than a real place anyone could get to.

“Hey,” Jaskier said, putting a hand on his arm, only to drop it after a brief squeeze. “We’ve got this.”

“Yeah.”

The committee, a gaggle of women and one man, entered and immediately headed to one of the larger contingents of florists, who all wore matching shirts with a logo for a large multi-state flower company.

Jaskier lounged against a window. At first, Geralt thought he was simply bored of the entire proceeding, but Jaskier’s eyes never left the committee. Geralt came over and leaned a shoulder against the window frame. “Learning anything?” he asked.

“These people want to be charmed.” His gaze met Geralt’s. “I have a plan. Smile, greet them, look too long at some chit’s décolletage, then turn the floor over to me.” Jaskier adjusted his glasses. “I think I know just what they want to hear.”

When the committee finally stopped in front of _White Wolf Florists’_ table, Geralt nudged himself off the wall. What would Jaskier do? He beamed at the committee members, going for a slightly crooked smile that hopefully said “scamp” and not “murder”.

The woman leading the group didn’t offer her hand. “I’m Tissaia, the committee chairwoman. You came highly recommended. I hope you don’t disappoint.”

“I’m just glad to be here, ma’am.” He nodded to her while picking one of the other women to scan his eyes over. She paled instead of appearing to appreciate the attention, and Geralt knew that he must be more intimidating than anything else. He was good at that. Somehow, he needed to change it. To disarm the situation.

“You are…unconventional,” Tissaia said with a raised brow.

“Thank you.” He did his best to beam. “Jaskier, my partner, will explain the designs.” Geralt hoped that the ‘partner’ part would work some magic to make him less threatening.

Jaskier sauntered over. “Thanks, luv.” He kissed Geralt’s cheek and several of the committee ladies tittered. Success on the diffusion of tension front. “Madam Chairwoman.” Jaskier sketched a bow that would have been ridiculous if done by anyone else. “Let me introduce you to the artistry at work here. The colors, the very language of the flowers themselves, invoke the heat and passion of Midsummer. By incorporating imagery of the sun—”

Geralt quit listening, much more interested in the response of the committee members to the tale Jaskier was spinning than the words themselves. Jaskier had them snared within two minutes, with even Tissaia nodding along as Jaskier spoke about allusions to Shakespeare.

Geralt did have to fight back a sneeze, the conference room had taken on the cloying scent of a greenhouse baking in the summer heat.

“We appreciate your consideration,” he said when Jaskier tossed the pitch back to him. “Also please note the subtler scent of the bouquets. We want to help make your event shine, not overwhelm your guests with odors that steal the show.”

Several of the committee members enthusiastically nodded their heads.

When the committee had finally reviewed all the flowers, the florists were sent to wait with their arrangements in the lobby. Amelia flittered over to him and Jaskier with bottles of chilled water she hadn’t offered to anyone else.

“Ta,” Jaskier said, twisting the top off to take a gulp.

Geralt gave her a smile. “Thank you.” He covered her hand briefly with his as he took the bottle.

Amelia’s cheeks went pink again. “I hope you win,” she said before beating a retreat to her desk to answer the phone.

Jaskier tilted his bottle in her direction. “There’s a picket fence and 2.5 kids for you right there.”

“I like my yard how it is.”

“I know.” Jaskier took another drink. “I’m glad.”

They sat in silence as a quarter of an hour ticked by. Jaskier played a game on his phone while Geralt grit his teeth until his jaw ached.

Tissaia abruptly appeared. “We’ve chosen _White Wolf Florists_ to provide the flowers.”

“As if there was ever any question,” Jaskier muttered under his breath. Geralt simply reached out and took his hand, too stunned to do anything else.

“Amelia, e-mail them the contracts and schedule.” Tissaia clapped her hands once, nodded to Geralt, and left.

“I’m not going to lose Ciri,” he said, pushing to his feet. “I’m…I’m…”

“Let’s get back to the shops,” Jaskier said softly. “Congratulations.”

Geralt waited until they were in the elevator before he grabbed Jaskier around the middle and hugged him in silent celebration.

#

Geralt turned off the open sign to his shop and walked over to _The High Note_. A cool breeze caressed his face and he lifted his hair to let it play over the nape of his neck. Inside the tattoo parlor, he found Jaskier squinting down at Yen’s bare thigh while working.

This time, seething jealousy didn’t threaten to consume Geralt. He hadn’t known what to do when he’d seen Jaskier so intent on her leg, but he knew better than to be worried about that now.

“Hello, handsome,” Yen said, not looking up from her phone. “I hear you got the contract.”

He narrowed his eyes at her and Jaskier, who had a very bland expression on his face, though the corners of his mouth were twitching like he was repressing a grin. “Did you have something to do with that?”

Yen finally lowered her phone. “Of course I did, but just getting you in the running. I could have swayed the committee if I wanted to. Some of those people don’t just have skeletons in the closet. It’s more like those skeletons are sticking out bony arms to wave at everyone. They don’t even make it hard if someone wanted to blackmail them.” She rolled her eyes. “But I didn’t, you and Jaskier did that all on your own.”

“Er, thanks?” He sat down in an empty chair.

Jaskier snorted. “What my boyfriend means to say, is: thank you, Yen. That was incredibly nice of you.”

“As if I do anything nice.” She fixed Geralt with an intimidating look. “You owe me now.”

“Sure?”

She went back to her phone.

Jaskier wiped at her leg before starting with a new color. “Geralt, would you be a dear and round us up something for dinner?”

It was such a normal question that he almost laughed. Today had been a good day. He had a boyfriend, he supposed Yen could be counted as a friend now, and he’d be able to slap down his earnings statement in court, showing that his shop was profitable. Ciri would be around much more than the occasional afternoon that he got now.

“What do you want?” he asked, surprised by how rough his voice sounded.

Fuck.

He might be happy.


	9. Buttercup

The music, played by a beleaguered looking string quartet, was not to Jaskier’s taste at all. The red, orange, and flowers festooning the ballroom popped, bright splashes of color against swaths of white fabric, but he’d swear the music had been chosen for how forgettable it was.

Geralt, dressed to the nines in a three-piece suit that made Jaskier want nothing more than to peel it off, stood in one corner of the room wearing a strained smile as an older man spoke to him. There were a lot of gestures involved and if Jaskier had to guess, the story was probably about hunting or fishing. Poor Geralt.

Yen linked her arm through Jaskier’s. “This is…exactly what I expected from a fundraising Gala.”

“It’s more boring than I thought it’d be. Shouldn’t there be drunken fights or an orgy happening by now?”

“If it’s an orgy you want—”

“I’m good.”

Yen laughed. “I have had a few people drool on me, but none that I’m interested in.” That didn’t surprise Jaskier at all. The dress Yen had on was a clingy black affair, with a split nearly up to her hip on one side that revealed the tattoo on her thigh. It’d healed enough to be shown off, the lines crisp and colors bright. He was extraordinarily proud of the work and happy to have it on display at the same venue as Geralt’s floral arrangements.

It was wonderful, if you ignored the terrible music, the warring scents of expensive perfumes, and the bland food. Jaskier sighed. He also had to ignore that Geralt was running cold again. Since before they’d arrived at the event, Geralt had been a bundle of nerves. Well, more narrowed eyes and an increased amount of grunting, but same difference. It meant that he’d shut off any affection towards Jaskier, including taking a step to the side when their hands had brushed in the hallway.

Jaskier understood that it wasn’t to make him feel bad and that Geralt might not even be aware that he was doing it. Maybe it was leftover from being in the Army, some ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ remnant. But knowing why Geralt was being more of a grump than usually didn’t make it sting any less. Jaskier would talk to him about it later, or would try to, anyway.

“You’re frowning,” Yen said, putting a hand on his shoulder.

“I’m still working through some stuff with Geralt, he’s worried about us being too public and the thing with his niece.” Jaskier shrugged. “We’re a work in progress. I’m okay with that.”

Yen made a face. “I both understand and want to stab somebody.”

“I guess I can help you hide the body.” Jaskier heaved a very fake sigh.

“You’re assuming there’d be a body left.” She bumped her shoulder against his. “To completely change the topic, I asked one of the junior lawyers at my firm to spend some time “helping” pro bono at the office Geralt’s lawyer works at. Triss is excellent with family law.” Yen said the name a little different, the word sounding almost reverent. Jaskier made a mental note to ask about her later because it sounded like Yen might be interested in more than Triss’ lawyering skills. “That office is thrilled to have such a prestigious firm take an interest in them.”

“You’re a wonder,” Jaskier breathed.

She shrugged. “I hate losing. Anyway, I think Triss has already dug up dirt on Ciri’s grandmother. The court date at the end of the month should go smooth as silk.” Yen stopped to grab two flutes of champagne from the tray of a passing server. She handed one to Jaskier. “And you should stop worrying about Geralt. Your boyfriend is just not great at expressing himself. And he probably doesn’t think he’s worthy of you or something completely idiotic like that.”

Jaskier chugged his drink. Geralt thinking Jaskier outclassed him? Rubbish. Jaskier knew there was a mirror over the sink in Geralt’s house, the bloke had to have seen himself in it at least once. For a second it seemed unreal that anything had ever happened between them. Those bloody thighs—

“Oh my god, stop making moon eyes over him. Let’s dance.” She gestured towards the space in front of the quartet, where a few couples swayed to the music, even though it was less music to dance to and more music to have high tea to while discussing ways to screw over the peasants.

“Fine.” He took Yen’s hand and let her lead him out to the floor. They stood an arm’s distance apart, hands on shoulders and shuffling around like awkward secondary school students. After a moment, Yen inched a little closer to him. “Are you trying to make Geralt jealous? Because he knows we’re not about to go shag in the loo.”

Yen’s lips quirked. “Then why is he staring right at us?”

She turned so that Jaskier could see Geralt, who was scowling towards the dance floor. He met Jaskier’s gaze briefly before quickly looking away. “He has resting bitch face.” A little bit of warmth uncurled in Jaskier’s chest as Yen turned them again. Geralt had been unhappy to see him dancing with Yen. Served him right. If he wanted to dance with Jaskier, he could blasted well mosey on over and—

“Sorry to interrupt.” Geralt’s voice was smooth as he cut in between Jaskier and Yen, who stepped back with a triumphant expression. Geralt pulled him close, hands warm on Jaskier’s back.

“You’re not sorry,” Jaskier said. The song switched to something slower. “And you know Yen and I are friends and only friends. There’s no reason to be jealous.”

“I’m jealous?” Geralt’s brows lifted in a terrible approximation of innocence. Jaskier nodded. “Fine, yes, but more because you two have been talking to each other and laughing while I had to…network. She got to touch you and I was talking, talking, talking.” His hands slid around to Jaskier’s back to grasp him close.

Jaskier leg brushed Geralt’s. “I thought you might still be playing it cool between us.” Being held like this didn’t make Jaskier feel cool, more the opposite as heat surged through his veins.

Geralt’s gaze dropped. “No. I didn’t mean to…is sorry enough?” The words were rough, but all the more endearing for it. “Ciri would tell me this is time to say sorry. Again.”

“Maybe?” Jaskier pursed his lips to keep from grinning. It was too much fun to tease.

“Fuck,” Geralt growled before hooking an arm around Jaskier’s lower back and pulling him close, their bodies aligning from knees to sternum. Jaskier barely had time to suck in a startled breath before Geralt’s mouth claimed his in a fiercely possessive kiss.

Right in the middle of the dancefloor, in front of Denver’s elite. Jaskier’s knees turned to jelly, but the strong arm around his middle kept him upright.

Finally, the kiss broke. Geralt leaned his forehead against Jaskier’s as they both caught their breath. They were no longer moving, the pretext of dancing having dropped at some point.

“Uh…” Jaskier murmured, his heart pounding.

“There,” Geralt said softly. “The whole world should know that you’re…you.”

“I am me,” Jaskier agreed, fairly out of breath. Emotion filled Geralt’s eyes, warm and sweet. Jaskier had thought he’d want the words, but that wasn’t his Geralt. He was most comfortable with action, and the public dance and kiss were practically the same as if someone else had posted three-story-tall letters that were on fire. Geralt had laid his heart bare the best he knew how, and it was glorious. “And me likes being with you.”

Geralt smiled, just a bit, as the struggling string quartet launched into something that resembled a waltz. With a soft noise, Geralt trailed his fingers down Jaskier’s arms to grasp his hands. Geralt settled one of Jaskier’s palms on his shoulder, kept their other hands clasped, and pressed his hand against Jaskier’s back. They spun into a waltz, Jaskier more than happy to follow anywhere Geralt led.

#

Sweat trickled down Jaskier’s back as he baked in the back row of what had to be one of Denver’s smallest courtrooms. The décor was institutional, and the carpet had been worn thin from years of plaintiffs and defendants pacing up and down it. The sun poured in through a high window, turning the place into a sauna.

Geralt sat in front of the judge, wearing a suit, a blank expression, and a spray of delicate buttercups in his buttonhole.

At the other table sat Ciri’s grandmother, Calanthe, looking like ice wouldn’t melt in her mouth despite the heat. She was flat out terrifying, and if Jaskier ever found himself in a dark alley with her, he’d turn and run very, very fast. Geralt called her the dragon, and it was abundantly clear why.

Today was simply a judgment. There wasn’t even a jury box in the room. The judge—a woman who Yen had said was very fair, thank goodness—sat in her black robes, sorting through a slew of documents provided by both Geralt and Calanthe.

Triss sat at the table next to Geralt, looking as cool and fresh as a mountain spring, but with a sharpness to her gaze that said she was prepared to wage war. Jaskier clasped his hands together to keep from wringing them. In truth, the battle had already been fought. The judge had spoken to Ciri at some point, and the documentation from both parties, about things like the profitability of White Wolf Florists and the list of demands Geralt had agreed to meet.

It was obvious that Calanthe had not expected him to check off every box on the list.

Jaskier wasn’t surprised at all. He was proud of his boyfriend, who had battled to make his life his own.

“Jaskier!” whispered a voice from behind him. He turned to find the door cracked open and Ciri peering at him. Somebody was supposed to be watching her, but they must not know how sneaky she could be. He looked back towards the front of the courtroom. Geralt had his neck craned around but then waved towards the door when Jaskier raised a brow.

Rising, Jaskier slipped out the door.

Ciri immediately grabbed his hand. “This is taking forever,” she complained. “I’m hungry. Do you think Uncle Geralt would take us for ice cream after?”

“I hope so, I’m about to bloody melt.” A flustered looking woman came charging down the hallway, glaring at Ciri. “I’ve got her,” Jaskier said, holding up Ciri’s hand where it was clasped in his. “We’ll entertain ourselves.”

“Stay close,” the woman said in clipped tones. She gave her bun an irritated pat before turning on her heel and marching off.

“She wasn’t any fun,” Ciri declared.

“I imagine not.” He grinned. “What about me? Am I fun?”

“Of course.” She said it in a very ‘duh’ tone, as if Jaskier should already know his own fun level. “We have to wait here.” Ciri sighed.

“I bet I can stand on one foot longer than you can,” he said, planting one foot and raising the other in front of him. Ciri’s eyes narrowed and her foot lifted. The game was on.

It wasn’t that long before the doors to the courtroom opened. Jaskier tried to tone down his laughter because he and Ciri had started coming up with more and more ridiculous challenges, which currently involved his finger being on his nose. It was the giggliest sobriety test he’d ever been subject to.

“Uncle Geralt!” Ciri hollered, taking off to run full tilt into him. Geralt’s smile widened as he hugged his niece.

“Good news?” Jaskier asked, his footfalls loud on the marble floor as he crossed to them.

“Split time, two weeks with me and two weeks with grandma. That sound good?” Geralt pushed a bit of Ciri’s hair behind her ear. Relief washed through Jaskier and knots in his shoulders loosened.

Ciri beamed as she nodded. “Ice cream?” she asked. “Uncle Jaskier already told me he wants some.”

Geralt pursed his lips. “Did he?”

Jaskier mumbled an agreement as his brain tried to catch up with being called ‘Uncle’. He had a family again, after believing for so long that was an impossible dream.

“He did,” Ciri confirmed. “His favorite is cookies n’ cream.”

“Not watermelon?”

Jaskier wrinkled his nose. “There’s watermelon ice cream?” Actually, it sort of sounded good.

“I’ll show you.” Geralt’s words were a warm rumble in Jaskier’s ear as he put a hand on Jaskier’s back, directing him outside into the summer sunshine.

On the steps of the courthouse, Geralt caught the back of Jaskier’s shirt, stopping him. Geralt’s arms came around him from behind, and he pulled Jaskier tight against his chest. The buttercups were in Geralt’s hand, the petals brushing Jaskier’s arm.

Geralt bussed a kiss to his temple. “Thank you for being here today.”

“Where else would I be?” As if he could spend the day tattooing anarchy symbols on necks or butterflies on lower backs when everything Geralt had been looking for was on the line.

“I don’t know but…I love you.”

Jaskier’s lungs refused to work. He managed a cough, then a weak, “Love you too.” For a second time in ten minutes, he struggled to process what was going on.

“Ice cream!” Ciri sang out, tapping her foot impatiently.

With a last squeeze, Geralt let Jaskier go and trotted down the steps after his niece.

A summer breeze, full of the scent of new-mown grass, ruffled Jaskier’s hair. There would be challenges ahead, there always were, but knowing you weren’t facing them alone, that no door would close in your face simply because of who you were--that meant everything.


	10. Daffodil

Geralt gasped as he woke, even as the threads of the nightmare vanished back into the dark hole they’d sprung from. Early morning sunlight slanted through the window, which was still cracked to let in the cool fall air. Which meant that the reason he felt like he was in a sauna had to be because Jaskier was draped across his chest. The man had a body temperature approaching the surface of the sun.

Not wanting to move him, Geralt wiggled his leg out from under the dark-red quilt.

“ ‘S okay?” Jaskier murmured in a sleep-slurred voice.

“I just needed air conditioning.”

Jaskier yawned in response. He nuzzled his head under Geralt’s chin, and Geralt put an arm around him to hold him while he slept. But instead of soft snores, there was nibbling at Geralt’s neck, which immediately made parts of him very wide awake. He shouldn’t be surprised. One of the things he’d learned about Jaskier as summer had given way to autumn was that their first more-or-less accidental sexual encounter hadn’t been a one-off. Jaskier woke up horny. Geralt admired the efficiency of getting an orgasm out of the way to start your day, and then worrying about everything else.

He slid his hand down to grab his boyfriend’s ass. It was the same lava-like temperature as the rest of him, but Geralt grabbed a handful anyway, kneading while Jaskier moaned. He nibbled his way up to Geralt’s mouth, their lips meeting in messy, languorous kisses.

Jaskier pressed a burgeoning erection against Geralt’s side. He ground his hard-on against Jaskier’s thigh to let him know how ready he was. This easy, wordless communication had always seemed like a fairytale, but it turned out you just needed to know someone very well. They even had in-jokes now. It was a little slice of heaven he’d never dreamed would be his.

Though, under the covers, it was hotter than hell. There was sweat on his back already. The answer was easy. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier and rolled them both over, tossing off the quilt in the process. Jaskier didn’t even pretend to be surprised as he relaxed back against the bed, eyes still sleepy. The cool air felt wonderful. Geralt sighed in relief while bending to tease one of Jaskier’s nipples. He tugged gently on one of the rings with his teeth while loosely curling a hand around Jaskier’s throat, his thumb grazing the rose tattooed there.

“Brilliant,” Jaskier murmured. He sunk both hands into Geralt’s hair, tugging his mouth over to the other nipple. “What do you fancy this morning?”

He grunted while flicking his tongue over Jaskier’s nipple.

“Up to me to decide then?”

Geralt grunted again and moved to lick along the lines of brambles tattooed on Jaskier’s arm. Soon, Geralt would have tattoos covering an arm as well. He was working out the design with Jaskier and they were almost in agreement. The flowers were meant to represent everything important in his life, but they also had to be in the correct arrangement. Jaskier kept trying to sneak a bleeding-heart lily into the design.

“Want a fuck?” Jaskier asked casually.

Geralt’s cock throbbed against Jaskier’s leg, apparently making its own decisions.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Jaskier wiggled out from under Geralt and turned to the side to rummage around in the nightstand for lube and a condom. He rolled back, and Geralt straddled him, holding him in place with his knees.

“Morning work out?” Jaskier said with a grin.

Did he have to talk so much? “Quiet.”

“I don’t think so, because here in a minute you’ll start telling me to make noise.”

Geralt rolled his eyes. Jaskier did have a point, damn him, though Geralt wanted more pleasured gasps and moans from him than smart comments. With a growl, he grabbed the condom from Jaskier’s fingers and tore open the package. Jaskier made the desired sound when Geralt fisted his prick and rolled the condom on, following it with lube. That was a better noise. He shuffled forward on his knees to position the head of his boyfriend’s dick right at his entrance. Jaskier set his palms on Geralt’s thighs and smiled widely. The corners of Geralt’s lips twitch up in response. To hide the smile, he quickly sank onto Jaskier’s cock, groaning from both the burn and the pleasure. To his satisfaction, Jaskier lost his grin, instead biting his lip while looking blissfully tortured.

Once they were as close together as possible, Geralt paused, panting. He brushed Jaskier’s dark hair off his forehead and cupped his cheek. The warm light of the sun made him glow, and the love in his eyes made Geralt’s heart beat double time.

He still worried that Jaskier might abruptly realize that Geralt wasn’t worthy of that kind of feeling, but that worry grew less and less as Jaskier resolutely _loved_ him day after day. Geralt knew how he felt, that his life would be much darker without Jaskier in it, and he hoped Jaskier understood how much he was loved.

Beneath him, Jaskier bucked up, demanding movement.

Geralt braced his knees and slowly rose a fraction before sliding back down. It was a workout, Jaskier hadn’t been wrong about that, but Geralt’s legs were strong and he could go quite a while before getting tired. At this easy pace, he could go on more than long enough to drive Jaskier feral. It was one of his favorite things to do. Jaskier would simply lose all patience and demand his pleasure. What a thing of beauty that was.

Continuing to move just enough for it to be pleasurable, he adjusted the angle until Jaskier’s cock was hitting just the right spot. Geralt closed his eyes and sighed as bolts of ecstasy zapped through him every time he slid down.

Outside the window, birds were welcoming the morning, the creaking of the bedframe joining their song.

One of Jaskier’s hands, palm now sweaty, caressed Geralt’s thigh before fisting his cock and stroking. The bolts of bliss became a thundering storm of pleasure.

“Jaskier,” he ground out as his stomach tightened with an impending orgasm.

Jaskier’s hand moved faster. His grip on Geralt’s leg tightened and he thrust upward, taking over and setting a demanding pace. Geralt barely had to move. His hands dropped to his sides as he could do nothing but race towards his completion.

The orgasm hit hard, making him grunt and thrust his cock into Jaskier’s hand. Cracking open his eyes, he watched as he spent himself on his boyfriend’s belly and chest. Jaskier moaned and let go of his prick to stroke a hand through the mess, leaving his palm resting over his heart. Another half-dozen plunges and Jaskier came as well, his entire body stiffening, then relaxing with a contented sigh.

Geralt leaned over to kiss him, soft and sweet, until they rolled apart to get cleaned up and the day started. Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, both on the worn side, since it was Sunday and their shops were closed, he headed outside to tend to the yard while Jaskier got coffee started. That they had somehow fallen into a comfortable routine still struck Geralt as a magical. That h was in love with someone who loved him back seemed unbelievable. He knew he was lucky that the boy next door—next door shop, at any rate—had turned out to be the kind of person who saw all of Geralt and still wanted him. He had more than he’d ever dreamed of, and it was wonderful.

A loud chittering demanded his attention, and Geralt straightened up from where he’d been examining the leaves of a rhododendron. A very large fox squirrel clung to the rough bark of a pine tree growing in the corner of the backyard. She was enormous, her fur more red than grey, and had adopted Geralt for some reason. It might have been the sunflower seeds he kept in his pocket for her.

“Hello, Roach,” he said, holding his palm out flat with several seeds in the middle. She’d been getting bolder, and this time she nibbled a few of the seeds before gathering up the rest and rushing up his arm to sit on his shoulder while she stuffed her face. It startled him at first, but then he smiled. Damn squirrel knew what she was about.

“Dear lord,” Jaskier said from the stoop outside the backdoor. He had two steaming mugs of coffee in his hands. “You are Cinderella. Is she going to make a dress for you?”

“That was mice and birds,” Geralt grumbled.

“Oh fine, wash the dishes, then.” They had both seen every Disney princess movie with Ciri twenty times.

“Not when you have that kind of attitude she won’t.” The squirrel flicked her tail in his face before jumping to the tree and scrabbling up the trunk. She disappeared among the branches. “See?”

Jaskier laughed as he walked over to hand Geralt his coffee. “What time are we picking up Ciri?”

“Noon.” He put his arm around Jaskier. “I promised her pizza and video games for lunch.”

“Goody,” Jaskier said, hiding a smile behind a sip of coffee. “Maybe you should ask the squirrel to go with us.”

“Her name is Roach, and I’m certain she’d like the arcade even less than I do.”

Jaskier gasped. “Is that possible?”

Geralt hushed him with a coffee-flavored kiss.

#

Geralt hunched his shoulders. The noises of excited kids screeching, tired parents yelling, an animatronic mouse singing, and the endless bells of the arcade machines dining were overloading his last nerve. He had no idea why Ciri liked this place, the pizza was terrible and the salad bar a petri dish. Plus there were hidden doors staff members abruptly appeared from, and even though he sat in a corner booth with his back to the wall, the lines of sight were zero.

But he couldn’t imagine wanting to being anywhere else than here, spending time with his family.

Jaskier and Ciri materialized out of the throng. He looked smug, several hundred tickets clutched in one hand, while Ciri stared down at her forearm.

“Uncle Jaskier gave me a tattoo!” she said, thrusting her arm under Geralt’s nose. “Now I’m like you!”

“Temporary,” Jaskier mouthed, though Geralt would have to talk later with Ciri about tattoos and waiting until you were at least the legal age.

She had a cartoon flower wearing sunglasses on her arm. “Very nice,” he said. She beamed.

“You should spend your tokens.” Ciri eyed the cup sitting next to his plate of discarded pizza crust.

“Why don’t you?”

She bit her lip. “You have to do one, so you can say you also played the games.”

“Good one!” Jaskier patted her back. Drat, he was being double-teamed. There’d be no way to resist.

“Fine.” He stood, taking out a single token and handing Ciri the rest. She darted off with a squeal, heading for a claw machine. Jaskier went with her, while Geralt sent the token he held tumbling over his fingers while inspecting the arcade machines.

Nothing looked tempting.

He ended up beside Ciri after a moment, watching her feeing coins into one of those machines with the ledges of coins that always looked like they were about to drop.

“So close,” she groaned when her last coin failed to make anything drop.

“You’re not meant to win,” Geralt said. “The machines are set up that way. The pushers are never close enough, the ledge is higher than you think, and the coins are put in there so they don’t fall. See?”

He dropped his one coin in, not bothering to even aim it.

Jaskier cheered as there was a loud crash from the machine as the entire front row of coins tumbled down. Tickets started spewing out the slot and Ciri gleefully gathered them up.

“I won?” Geralt asked, staring at the machine like it might give him answers. That shouldn’t have happened, he’d already won one impossible jackpot that summer.

Jaskier leaned against him. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Hm.”

Jaskier traced a finger down Geralt’s arm. “We should include a flower that means luck.”

“A Daffodil?” They could mean luck, but also unparalleled love, something that he felt much more strongly about that the nebulous concept of luck. Hopefully, Jaskier wouldn’t start going on about fate or destiny. Geralt could do without that nonsense.

“I’ll work one into the design.”

Geralt grunted, slipping his arm about Jaskier’s waist. Ciri claimed all the tickets and headed towards the prize counter with an unholy gleam in her eye. Judging from the size of the pile of tickets in her arms, he felt glad that a live pony wasn’t one of the things she could come back with.

He tightened his hold on Jaskier. “I’m lucky enough. I have you.”

A delighted smile lit Jaskier’s face, and Geralt knew that he was, in fact, the luckiest man on earth.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I had a lot of fun with this story and hope you enjoyed reading it! I adore comments, whether it's ten seconds, days, months, or years after I first posted this! 
> 
> I'm @sunalsolove on Tumblr and @writesmorse on Twitter! 
> 
> -1700, July 24, 2020, in my living room during a thunderstorm


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